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EGBERT TANNAHILL. 



A 

SCOTTISH INTERLUDE. 

IN TWO ACTS, 

WITH OXHEli 
CH-IEFLT XK THE SCOTTISH DJALECTi 



BY 

ROBERT TANNAHILL: 



TO WHICH IS PRtFIXEC, 

AN ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR 



PAISLEY : 
PRINTED FOR !rOBERT SMITH. 



1&22. 
O 



n 



S^At 



I 5 ^^ ■ 




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Memoirs 

OF 

THE AUTHOR. 



Robert tannahill, was bom at PabUy 

1774, bred a weaver, and died in 1810. There >. 
little variety in his life. His eniplorment at the loom, 
and devotion to the muse, seem to have occupied tlie 
greatest part of his time. His education was confin- 
ed, his reading being limited to a few of our most 
popular poets. He was virtuous and inoflensive, re- 
tired and unassun)ing ; industrions, contented, and of 
an independent spirit : possessed of great sci^:ihility ; 
loving his friends with unbounded affection, and ar- 
dently loved by them in return. — He had the sickly 
tenperaraent of genius; and probably his health, both 
bodily and mental, was injured bv a sedentary life ; his 
occuj)ation confining him to the house, and sotnetimcs 
making him lean over his chest, of the pain of which 
he frequently comp,lained ; and his siudies rot Icing 
sufficiently varied, but always nirning upon the hopes 
and griefs, the endearments and disappointmenta oi" 
ioye. From this cause his nerves were excited to an 
extraordinary degree^ and a turn of mind at \en^'\) pro- 
duced bordering on insanity, and tliat kind r>f despair 
which seeks for refuge in £cJf-destrnction.— ^Thc iauie 
of Burns has fired many a Scottish peasant with the 
love of song; but, wanting his mind, most of thcrn 
have failed m attempting the steeps of Parnai^su?: and 



after some feeble efforts to enter the sacred ground, 
have been forced to retircj and at last have sunk into 
that original obscurity from which they tried to emerge. 
Tannahill had read Barns with enthusiasm. He has 
written two odes in commemoration of his birth, and 
in a funeral dirge lamented his death. He felt him- 
self inferior, and doubted his rising to celebrity ; but 
}ie could not restrain his admiration of his genius, or 
forbear to lift his voice in his praise. — There was a 
sameness of rank and country betwixt him and Burns, 
which powerfully aflfected his mind ; and though he 
celebrated Kamsay, imitated Lewis and Dunbar, and. 
quoted Dryden, Gray, and Goldsmith ; yet in all his 
poetry he had Burns chiefly in his eye ; and, as far 
as tenderness of heart and a love of nature are con- 
cerned, he greatly breathes his spirit. Like him, he 
consulted his own bosom in pouring forth his strains, 
and clothed them with the images which the fields a- 
Tound him supplied.. — At ten years of age he shew- 
ed some inclination to poetry, but from twelve to 
twenty-three he composed no poem. He then became 
acquainted with some persons who had an excellent 
taste for music, and by their influence over him, 
awakened his genius for writing songs ; and as he had 
keen sensibility, a fine imagination, and a boundless 
iove of nature, his compositions of this kind, whether 
read,, rung, or plaved on musical instruments, must be 
heard with the most exquisite delight, and remembered, 
and admired, while beauty attracts, and the seasons 
revolve. — He has written about seventy-three songs, 
of various merit, most of them amorous, or at least 
sentimental, and a few sportive or ludicrous. 



eONTENTS. 



Page 
INTERLUDE. 
The Soldier's Return . ^ 
rOEMS. 

Storm .... k 25 
The Affibitioas Mite . 26 
The Trifler's Sabbath-day 28 
Dirge, on Burns' Funeral 29 
Ode to Jealousy. . . SO 
Baudron8& t!ie Hen-bird ol 
Stanzas, on Invocation 5-5 
Parnassiad . . . » 34 
Ode, for Burns' Birth-day, 

1805 . . , . ' 3S 
Ode, in imitation of Pindar 42 
The Portrait of Guilt 43 
The Ilauntet Wiid . 44 
The Choice ... 46 
Epistle to A. B-ri— d 47 
The Bacchanalians . 5^2 
I'jlial Vow . . . , 5J 
Eild, a fragment . . ;' J 
Stanzas on a grave-stone ih. 
Prayer under affliction 55 
l.pistlc to J. K~g ► 5G 
Stanzas on A. Wilson's 

emigration . . . 5S 
Allan's Ale . . -60 
Epistle to J. StvdUk , 62 
Prologue to Uie Gentle 

Shepherd , , . f75 
Kpiqle to \V, WA-e . 67 



Bge 
Sonnet to Slneerity . 68 
Epistle to J. B-rr . .69 
SecondEpistJe to J. Sc-dl-k 15 
Lines, on the " Pleasures 

of Hope" . . 75 
Contrast .... 76 
Epistle to W. Th-rts-n 77 
Epistle to J. B-ch-n-n 7^ 
Lines to W. ML-r-n . 84 
Ode, /or Burns' Birth^day, 

1807 . . . . 85: 
Parody on Lullaby . 88 
Bowlman's Remonstrance ib. 
Will iU'N--i's Elegy 90 
The Cock-pit . . , 95 
Tou'ser^ a tale ... 98 
The Pvesolre ... 10 1 
Gqanel and Fbra . 104 
Lines on a Guinea Note 107 
Do. on a Spider and Fly 103 
Do. o.i sci'in^ a Fop pass 

an old Beggar . i;- 
Do. on a Country Justice ih. 
Morah'st. . ' . . ]0<> 
A Les.Hon . . . . 110 
Lines on a IlaVk^rcr . i!>. 
AKev:h.e . . . . \]l 
JAnc^ v.rittyn in a Tap- 

Ilootn . , , ib. 
Lines on Gripus •. . ib. 
Pron'.urion.for Mr. J, L 11 J 



Page 
Antapathy . . .112 

Lines to W » . 113 

"VV. 's Recipe . lb. 

IJnea on a Man of Char- 
acter . . . . 114 
EPIGRAMS . 114, 115 

EPITAPHS. 
On a once worthy charac- 
ter ... . 115 
For T. B Erq. . .116 
On a Ciabbed old Maid ib. 
On a Farthing- gatherer ib. 

SONGS. 
Our bonny Scots lads S 

O lassie v/ill ye tak' a man 9 
Blythe was the time 10 

LapfT^ yn<^, beside the wood- 

i ;nd burn . . 12 
"Wt I neet beside the dus- 
ky glen . . 15 
From the Rude Bustling 

Camp , .21 

"Wild drives the bitter nor- 
th.-, n bia>t . .117 
Far lone amang the high- 
land hills . . 118 
Whit,' ,doamin treads the 

heels o' day 119 

When John an' me war* 

married • . 120 
Now winter, wi' his clou- 
dy brow . . 121 



Page 
O are ye sleepin' Maggie 122 
My Mary is a bonny lassie 1 25 
Responsive ye woods 124 
From hill to hill the bug- 
les sound . . J 25 
Thou dark winding Car- 

ron . . . 126 
Where primroses spring 127 
Far from the giddy court ib. 
Thou bonny wood of Crai- 

gie-lee . . 128 
Fortune frowning most 

severe . .129 
Louder than the trump of 

fame . . 130 

Och-hey, Johnnie lad 151 
Accuse me not, inconstant 

fair . . 132 

Lowland lassie wilt thou 

go . . 133 

Wi' waefu heart an' sor- 
rowing e'e . . 134 
Hark, 'tis the poor mani- 
ac's Song . . 135 
Keen blaws the wind 156 
Ye echoes that ring 137 

Auld Watty o* Kcbbuck- 

ston brae . ib. 

When Rcsie was faithful 140 
Yon poor Negro girl 141 
Now let the procession 142 
When poor tiih canld H~ 



Soulier's aaeturtt. 



THE PERSONS. 



MEN. 

The Laird, Colonel of a Scotch Regt. 
Gaffer, the Laird's Tenant. 
MuiRLAND Willie, an old rich dotard. 
Harry, in love with Jean» 

WOMEN. 
MiRREN, Gaffer's Wile, a foolish old woman. 
Jeai^, Daughter of Gaffer and Mirren, be- 
loved by Willie, but in love with Harry, 



THE 

SOLDIER'S RETURN. 



ACri. 



SCENE I. 

A range of hills, o*erhung vvi" v, aving woods. 
That spread their dark green bciO iss to the cloudS, 
And seem to crave the tiibutt ot a show'r. 
Grateful to woodland plant and mountain flow'r— — « 
A glen beneath, frae whilk a bick'rin' burn 
Strays round the knowes, avI* bonny wiraplin' turn. 
Syne trottin' down-wards thro' the cultur'd lands. 
Runs by whare Gaffer's humble biggin' stands: 
His wife an' him are at some family plea. 
To hear what ails them, just step in and see. 



"I 

l_iO 



Gaffer and Mirren". 

Mirren* 



JOVE should be free!"— -My trouth but ye craw 
c rouse, 
You a gudeman, an* canna' rule your house ! 
Had I a father's pow'r, I'd let her see 
"\\i' vengeance, whether or no that love be free. 
She kends right weei Muirland, has dk thing ready^ 
An's fit to keep her busket hke a iady, 




Yet soon's she hears me mention Muli-land Willie^ 

She skits an' flings like ony towmont filly 

Deil, nor ye*d broke your leg, gaun cross the hallan, 
That day ye fee*d the skelpor Highland calJan, 
We've fed him, clad him— what's bur mense for't a'? 
Base wretch, to steal our Dochter's heart awa*! 
*' Love should be free !" Gude-irowth a bonny story! 
That Muirland maun be lost for Highland Harry, 
Muirland comes down this night — to tauk's nae use, 
For she shall gie consent or lea' the house. 
Oddsaffs ! my heart did never wallop cadgier 
Than when the Laird took Harry for a sodger ; 
An* now she sitS a* day, sae dowf an* blearie. 
An' sings luve-sangs about her Highland Harry. 

Gqf. Indeed Gude-wife, the lad did weel enough^ 
Was eident ay, an' deftly hel' the pleugh ; 
Kit Muirland*s up in years, an' shame to tell. 
Has ne'er been married tho' as auld's mysel' ; 
His locks are lyart, an* his joints are stiff^ 
A stair wad set him better than a wife. 
Sooner shall roses in December blaw, 
Sooner shall tulips flourish i' the snaw, 
{Sooner the woods shall bud wi' winter's cauld, 
Than lassies quit a yoiing man for an auid : 
Yet, she may tak' him gin she likes, for me, 
My say shall never make them disagree, 

Mir. Ye hinna the ambition o' a mouse. 
She'll gie consent this night or lea' the house* 

Enter Jean, in haste, 

Jean, Father, the sheep are niblin' i' the corR, 
Wee Saunday's chain'd ^uld Bawtie to the thorHj 



An' bauson'd Grummock's broken frae tlie sta'. 

Och ! a's gaen wrang since Harry gaed awa'. {Aside. 

Gaf. A bouse divided, a' g^ngs to the de\'i\.-\^EanL 

Mir. Dochter come here — now let us reason civil. 
Isn t siller mak's our ladies gang sae braw ? 
Isn t sil'er buys their cleuks an' bonnets a'? 
Ipn't siller busks them up wi' silks an' sattins, 
Wi' umbrellas, muffs, claeth-shoon, an' pattons? 
Our Lady, — -what is't gars us curtsey till her, 
An' ca' her Mam ? why, just 'cause she has siller j 
Isn't siller mak's our Gentles fair an sappy? 
Whlik lets us see, it's siller mak's fouks happy. 

Jean. Mither, ae simple question let me speir. 
Is Muirland fat or fair wi' a' his gear? 
Auld croighlm' Wight, to hide the ails o' age, 
He capers like a monkey on a stage ; 
An' cracks, an' sings, an' giggles sae light an' kittle,' 
Wi's auld beard slaver'd wi' tobacco spittle. — 

Mir. Peace, wairdless slut — O, whan will youth be 
wise I 
Ye'll slight your carefu Mither's gude advice : 
I've brought you up, an' made vou what ve are. 
An' that's your thanks for a" my toil an' care : 
Muirland comes down this night, sae drap vour stodgin'. 
For ve must gie consent or chr.nge your lodgin'. \^Kxitm 

Jean. E'en turn me out, Miiiriaiid V\\ never marry, 
What's wealth or life without ray dearest Harry ? 

SONG. 

Set to Music hy IMr. Ross, Organist, Aberdeen* 

Our bonny Scots lads in their green tavtan plaids, 
Their blue-belted bonnets, an' feathers sae braw. 



Rank't up on tlie green war* fair to be see«, 
But my bonny young laddie was fairest of a*^ 

His cheeks War' as red as the sweet heather-bell, 

Or the red western cloud lookin' down on the snavr^ 

Jlis lang yellow hair o'er his braid shoulders fell, 
An* the een o' the lasses war' fix'd on him a'. 

My heart sunk wi' wae on the wearifu' day, 

When torn frae ray bosom they march'd him awa*. 
He bade me farewell, he cried *' O be leel,' * 

An' his red cheeks war' wet wi' the tears that did fa*; 
Ah ! Harry my love, tho' thou ne'er shou'dst return. 

Till life's latest hour J thy absence will mourn, 
An' memory shall fade, like the leaf on the tree. 

Ere my heart spare ae thought on anitJier but thee. 

ACT I. 

SCENE n. 

Harry return'd, as serX'ant to the Laird, 
Finds, for a while, his presence may be spar'd. 
An' here, his lane, he wanders o'er each scene, 
"Where first he lov'd an' fondly woo'd his Jean i 
He sees her cot, an' fain would venture in, 
But weel he minds her mither's no' his frien'. 



Harry, 
Tir'd with the painful sight of human ills, 
Hail Caledonia ! hail my native hills ! 
Kere exil'd virtue rears her humble cell, 
With nature's jocund, honest sons to dwell j 



And hospitality, with open door, 

Invites the stranger and the wandering p6or 2 

Tho' winter scowls along our northern sky, 

In hardships rear'd we learn humanity : 

Nor dare deceit here point her rankling dart, 

A Scotchman's eye's the window of his heart. — — » 

When fate and adverse fortune bore me far. 
O'er field and flood to join the din of war, 
My young heart sicken'd, gloomy was my mindj 
My love, my friends, my country all behind. 
But whether tost upon the briny flood, 
Or dragg'd to combat irt the scene of blood* 
Hope, like an angel, charm'd my cares awayj 
And pointed forward to this happy day. 
Full well I mind yon brecken-skirted thorn. 
That sheds its milk-white blossoms by the burn. 
There first my heart life's highest bliss did prove, ' 
*Twas there, my Jeanie blushing own'd her lovfe* 
Yon dark ^reed plantins oil the mountain's brow. 
Yon yellow whins and broomy knowes belOwj 
Bring to my mind the happvj happy days, 

I spent with her upon these rural braes 

But while remembrance, thus my bosom warms, 

I long to clasp my charmer in my arms. i^Exii, 

ACT I. 



SCENE IIU 

Now Mirren's to ihe burn to sine her kitn. 
Here Jeanie waefu' sits an' reels her pii-n? 



While honest (jaffer, ay for peace inclin'4. 
Is ha'flins vext, and freely speaks his mind. 

Gafer, 
Thy Mither'fe gair an* set upon the ^arl, 
It's Muirland's gear tKat gars her like the carl> 
But nature bids thee sptirn the silly p^e, 
An' wha wou'd wed wi' ane-they-eanna' like ; 
Just speak thy mind an' tell him ance for a*, 
That eighteen ne'er can 'gree wi* sixty'-twa : 
A mair disgusting sight I never knew, 
Than youthfu folly 'neath an aidd grey poWt. 
Enter Mirren, hlythely* 
Mir. Here comes our nel'bour hurryin* frae the muirj 
Mak' a' things snod, fey, haste rede up the floor ; 
The like o' him to visit you an' me, 
Reflects an honour on our family : 
Now lassie, mind my high comman* is tliis^ 
Whatever Muirland says, ye'll answer Yes, 

Jean, Whatever Muirland says ! it shall be so. 

But soon as morning comes I'll answer No, (Aside, 

£H/er Muirland. 

Muir, Peace to the biggin'-^— he, he, he, (Giggles J 
how's a ? 

Mir, Gayly, a thank you — William come awa*. 
And tell us how ye £en this night yoursel' ? 

Miiii\ He, he — his namebeprais'd! faith unco weeL 
I ne'er was ha'f sae Strang in a' my days, 
I'm grown sae fat, I'm like to burst my claise ! 
Nae won'er o't ! I'm just now at my prime, 
I'm just now five and thretty come the time I 



Mo, ho, ho, ho. (coughs) I pity them wha*re auld ! 
Yestreen I catch'd a wee bit croighl o' cauld. 

Gaf. (disgusted J I might eiccuse a foolish untaught 
bairn* 
But second childhood, Sure, will never leaim. (Aside. 

[ExiU 
Muirlandf half-blind with age, slips on his Spectacles 
secretij/f recognizes Jean, advances to her and sings* 

SONG. 

Air. — -*' Whistle owre the lave o*t" 

O lassie, will ye tak' a man, 
Rich in housin', gear and Ian', 
■Deii tak' the cash, that I should baft, 

Nae mair I'll be the slaye b*ti 

I'll buy you claise to busk you braw, 

A ridin* pouney, pad an' a', 

On fashion's tap we'll drive awa*. 

Whip, spur, au^ ia' the lave o'fe 

O Poortith is a wintry day. 
Cheerless, blirtie, cauld, and blae^ 
But baskin' under fortune's ray, 

There's joys whate'er ye'd have b't. 

Then gies your han' ye'U be my wife, 
I'll make you happy a' your life. 
We'll row in luve an' siller rife, 

Till death wind up the lave o't, 

Mir, Nae toilin' there to raise a heavy rent, 
Oiir fortune's made — O lassie gie consent! (Aside to X 

Mtiir* Ye'll get a gouden ring an' siller broach. 
An' now and then we'll hurl in a coach ; 



lb 

To shaw we're gentle, when we walk oh fit, 
In passln' poor folk, how we'll flught and skit .' 

Jean. An' though ye're rather auld I'm rather ?/oM?i|^, 
Our ages mix'd will stop the warl's tongue. 

Muir, Auld, said ye ! No. Ye surely speak in jestj 
Your Mither ken's I'm just now at my best ! 

Mir. The lass is blunt, she means ua' as she says, 
Ye ne'er look'd ha'f sae weel in a' your days ! 
Wi' canny care I've spun a pickle yarn, 
That honest-like we may set afF our bairn ; 
If gang wi' me we'll o'er to Wabster Pate's^ 
An' see him weavin' at the bridal sheets. 

Muir. The bridal sheets ! he, he, he, he, what bliss! 
The bridal sheets ! O gies an erl-kiss, 

Mir. Fey ! come awa', and dinna' think o' kissih* 
Till ance Mess John hae gien jou baith his blessin'. 

JeaUy Solus, 

Alas ! my Mither's just like Whang the Miller, 
O'erturos her house in hopes o' fin'mg siller ; 
For soon's I see the morning's first faint gleam. 
She wakens sorrowing frae her gouden dream. 

SONG. 

Ah\ — " Momeen I Galierland,'* 

Blythe was the time when he fee'd wi' my Father, O 
Happy war' the days when we herded thegither, O 
Sweet war' the hours when he row'd me in his plaidie, O 
An'vov/'d to be ine, my dear Highland addie, O 
But ah ! waes me ! wi' their sodg'ring sae gaudy, O 
The Laird's wys'd awa' my braw Highland laddie, O 



11 

Misty are the glens, an' the dark hills sae cloudy, O 
That ay seem'd sae blythe wi' ray dear Highland laddie, O, 

The blae-berry banks, now, are lonesome an* dreary, Q 
Muddy are the streams that gush'd down sae clearly, O 
Silent are the rocks that echoed sae gladly, O 
The wild melting strains o' my dear Highland laddie, O 
Farewell my ewes ! an* farewell my doggie, O 
Farewell ye knowes ! now sae cheerless aa' scroggie, O 
Farewell Glen I'eoch ! my INIaromy and my Daddie, O 
I will lea' you a', for my dear Highland laddie, O. 

Thro' distant towns I'll stray a hapless stranger, 
In thoughts o' him I'll brave pale want an' danger,, 
An' as I go, poor weeping, niolirnfu* pond'rer, 
Still some kind heart will cheer the weary wand'rer. 



ACT 11. 

SCENE I. 
gaffer's house. 

Jean, her lane, 

SONG. 

Set to Music by Mr. R, A. Smith, 

Lang sine, beside the woodland burn* 

Amang the broom sae yellow, 
I lean'd me 'neath the milk-white thorn. 

On nature's mossy pillow. 
A* 'round my seat the flow'rs were strew*d» 
That frae the wild wood I had pu'd, 
To weave mysel' a simmer snood, 
To pleasure my dear fellow. 

I twin'd the woodbine round the rose?. 

Its richer hues to mellow, 
Green sprigs of fragrant birk I chose. 

To busk the sedge sae yellow. 
The crow-flow'r blue, an* meadow-pink 
I wove in primrose-braided link* 
But little, little did I think 

I should have wove the willow* 

My bonny lad was forc'd afar, 
Tost on tbe raging billow^ 




f - IS 

Terhojps heS fa*n4n biydy %rar. 

Or wreck'd on rocky shallow, 
Yet, ay I hope for his return, 
As round our wonted haunts I mourn^ 
And often by the woodland burn 

I pu* the weeping willow* 

Enier MuiRLAND. 

Muir. Faith \ Patie's spool j[inks thro* wi* wond- 
rous might. 
An* ay it minds me o* " the bridal night.'* 
I've rowth o' sheets, sae never fash your thumb— 
gies a kiss afore your Minnie come. 



Harry enters,— Jeanie kens him— 

Fast he grips her till his breast- 
Willie gapes, an' glowrs, an' sanes him, 

Rins an' roars like ane possest ; 
Wild, wilyart fancif'^ revel in his brain-<— 
They baitb rin -dS an' lea' him a' bis lane* 



Muir, murder, murder ! — O! — I'll die wi* fear I 
O Gaffer, Mirren I — O, come here, come here ! 

Enter Mirren, in haste, 

Mir, The peeswip's scraighin* owre the spunJcie'cairn, 
My heart bodes ill — O, William whare's my bairn ? 

Muir. A great red dragon, wi' a warlock claw. 
Has come; aiid wi' your Dochter flown awa'U! 
B 



u 

Enter Gaffkr^ in haste. 

Oaf, What awfu' cry was yon I heard within ? 
What raak's you glowr, an' what caus'd a' yon din? 

Mir, A great big dragon, wl' a red aim t^law, 
Has come an' wl' our Dochter flown awa ! [Crying, 

Muir, Its head was cover'd. wi' a black airn ladle 1 
It had black legs, an' tail as sharp's a needle ! 
A great red e'e stood starin' in its breast ! 
I'm like to swarf — O, 'twas a fearfu'. beast I 

Mir. The craw that blgged i' the stack-yard thorn, 
Scraigh'd an' forsook its 7iesi when she was born ; 
Three pyats crost the kirk when she was christen'd ; 
I'v^ heard it tell'd, an' trembl'd while I listen'd: 
O, dool an' wae I My dream's been rede right soon 1 
Yestreen I dream'd twa mice had hol'd the moon, 

Gqf, The sword o' Justice never fa'sun wrought for; 
But come, — alive or dead, let's seek our Dochter. 

Muir. I'll no' be weel this month-0, what a fright! 
I'll no gang owre the Muir, my lane, this night. 

^Exeunf», 

ACT II. 

SCENE II. 

A briery bank, ahint a broomy knowe. 
Our youthfu' loving Couple hid frae view^ 
Their vows renew, an' here wi' looks sae sweet 
Tfae;ir set their tr^^st whare neist again to meet,* 



15 

Jean, 
My heart shall ever-gratefu' bless the Lair^j 
"Wha shew'd my dearest Harry such regard, 
Restor'd you to our hills an' rural plain, 
Frae war's fatigues safe to my arms again. 

Harry. Remote from bustling camps and war*s alarms> 
Thus, let me ever clasp thee in my arms. 

Jean, But, — here, my Lad, we darna' weel be seenj 
Dear Hai'ry I say, whare will we meet at e'en ? 

SONG. 

^etto Music hy Mr. RosSj of Aberdeen^ 

Marry, 

*We^l meet beside the dusky glen, on yon bum side, 
Whare the bushes form a cozie den, on yon burn side, 

Tho' the brooray knowes be green, 

Yet» there we may be seen. 
But we'll meet — we'll meet at e'en, down by yon burn side* 

I'll lead thee to the birken bow'r, on yon burn side, 
Sae sweetly wove wi' woodbine flow'r, on yon burn side, 
There the busy prying eye, 
Ne'er disturbs the lovers' joy, 
"While in ithers' arms they lie, down by yon burn side. 

Awa* ye rude unfeeling crew, frae yon burn side. 
Those fairy-scenes are no for you, by yon burn side,—] 
There Fancy smoothes her theme, 
By the sweetly munn'ring stream, 
An' the rock-Iodg'd echoes skim, down by yon burn side. 

Now the plantin taps are ting'd wi* goud, on yon burn sidej 
An' gioamin' draws her fog^y shroud o'er yon burn side, 

Far frae the noisy scene, 

I'll through the fields alane, 
There we'll meet— 'My ain dear Jean! down by yon bwrn side« 



16 

, Jem* I'll jeer my undent wooer hame, an' tHet 
I'll meet you at the op ning o' the glen. 



ACT 11. 

SCENE III. 

Gaffer's house. 



With unsuccessfu* search th6 ghaist-rid thi^e, 
Hae socht the boortree bank, an' hemlock lee, 
/^he nettle corner, anV the rown-trce brae, 
Sae here they come, a* sunk in deepest wae. 



Gofer, 
Alas! Gudewlfe, our search has been in vain, 
Come o't what will? ray bosom's wrung wi' pain ; 
I huflins think his een hae him mislipen'd, 
But, Oh ! it's hard to say what may hae happeh'd. 
JEnier MuiRLAND ru7ining, 

Muir. Preserve's! O haste ye rin, niak' mettle heekl 
I saw the dragon spankln' owre the fiel's ! 

{They stop from going out on seeing Jean Knter^ 
Jean. What mak's you stare sae strange ! what's 
wrang wi* Willie ? 
He roars as ibud's a horn, tho' auld an silli/. 



17 

^uir. I'm no' sae auld!-my pitli ye yet may brag on! 
But Jeanle love! how did ye match the dragon? 

Jean, Add bleth'rin' Wight ! the gowk's possest 
I ween.— - 

Gqf, Come, Dochter, clear this rlddlej whare hae 
ye been ? 

Jean, Father, rare news ; our Laird's come hame 
this day. 
His man ca'd in to tell us by the way, 
Dress'd in his sodger's ciaise, wi' scarlet coat, 
He is a bonny lad fu' weel I wot ! 

Muir. The dragon! he, he, he. — I've been deliered, 
I'll wear a scarlet coat too when we're married. 

Gqf, Cur Laird come hame! an' safe but skaithor scar? 
I'll owre an' hear the history o' the war, 
Us klntra fouk are bun like in a cage up, 
I'll owre an' hear about that place ca'd — EGYPT. 
I lang to hear him tell a what he's seen. 
For four lang winters he awa' has been — 
Wife — fetch my bonnet that 1 caft last owk, 
Here, brush my coat, — fey, Jean tak' affthat pouk,. 
Mir. Toot, snuffl 'bout news ye needna' be sae thrang. 
Let's set the bridal night afore ye gang. 

Midr, The bridal night! he, he, he, he — that's right! 
The bridal night ! he, he — the bridal night I 

Jean. V\\ hing as heigh's the steeple, in a wuddie, 
Before I wed wi' that auld kecklin' bodi/. 

Mir. Was mither e'er sae plagued wi' a Dochter! 
O that's her thank for a' the length I've brought her 

(Cryinn, 

Gaf. This racket in a house — it is a shame, 
I'll thank you Muirland to be steppiu' hame. 



Jeau. Auld, awlrlon, slaethorn, camsheugh, crobted 

Gae wa' an ne er again cdme in my sight. 

Muir. That e*er my lugs were doom'd to hear sic 
words ! 
Whilk rush into my heart like pointed swurds— 
Frae me let younkers warnin" tak* in time, 
An* wed, ere dozen'd down ayont their prime ! 
O, me ; I carina* gang, — 'twill break my heart,— 
Let's hae ae fareweel peep afore we part. 

f He puis on his Spectacles^ stares ai 
Jean, roars ludicrouslj/^ Exit., Crying, 

Etiter the Laird attended hy Harry, 

Laird, Well— -how d'ye do my worthy tenants, praj 
How fairs good Gaffer since I went away ? 

Gqf, My noble Laird ; thanks to the lucky star, 
That steer'd you hame, safe thro* the storms o' war. 

Laird, Thanks, honest friend— ^I know your heart of 
truth. 
But for my safety, thank this gallant youth, 
He sav'd ray life — to him I owe my fame, 
And gratitude shall still revere his name. :-_ 

Gqf, May heav'n's post-angel swift my blessings 
carry* 
He sav'd your life !— preserve me, it is Harry ! 
Thrice welcome lad, here — gies a shake o your paw ^ 
Ye've mended hugely since ye gaed awa'. 

Harty. Yes, sodg'ring brushes upa'person'sfratnq. 
But at the heart, I hope I'm still tlje same. 

Gaf, Your promise to do wee! I see yeVe keepen't 
He Mv'dyour life I O tell" me how it hr.ppen't ? 



19 

Laird. 'Twas March the eight, that memorable day^ 
Our sea-worn troops all weary with delay, 
For six long days storrh'-rdck'd we lay off shore. 
And heard the en'mies' guns menacing roar, 
At length thie wish'd-for orders came, to land, 
And drive the foe back from the mounded strand ; 
Then each a hero on the decks we stood, 
LaunchM out our boats and speeded all we could ; 
While clouds of sulfrous smoke obscurM the view, 
And showers of grape shot from their batt'ries flew— 
A brother Captain seated by my side, 
Received a shot — he sunk— he quiver'd — died : 
With friendly hand I clos'd his iife-gone eyes, 
Our sighs, our tears were all his obsequies. 
Then as our rowers strove with lengthen 'd sweep, 
Back from the stern I tumbl'd in the deep. 
And sure had perish'd, for each pressing wave 
Seem'd emulous to be a soldier's grave ; 
Had not this gallant yoiith, at danger's shrine, 
Off'ring his life a sacrifice for mine, 
Leap'd from the boat and beat his billowy way, 
To where 1 belch'd" and struggl'd in the sea : 
With God-like arm sustain'd life's sinking hope, 
Till the succeeding rowers pick'd us up. 

GaJ\ Fair fii' your worth, my brave young sodger la(^ 
To see you sate return d my heart is glad. 
Ilk cotter round will lang your name regard, 
And bless you for your kmdness to the Laird. 

Laird, And when the day's hot work of war was 
done. 
Each fight-tir'd soldier leaning on his gun, 
\ sought ray brave deliverer, and made 



■^0 ^' 

An offer, with wliat Influence I haci 

To raise his fortune ; but he shunn'd reward ; 

Yet warmly thank'd me for my kind regard ; 

Then as in warmth I prais'd his good behavour. 

He modestly besought me this one favour^ 

That if surviving when the war was o'er, 

And .safe return 'd to Scotia once more, 

I'd ask your will, for him to wed your daughter ; 

A manly,' virtuous heart he home hath brought her. 

Gaf. Wi' a' my heart, he has my Jree cortseiii. 
Wife, what say ye? I hope ye' re weel content, 

Mir. A mither'stf/orc? Stan's neither here nor there; 
Tak* him or no' Pm sure I dinna care. 

Laird, Accept this trifle as young Harry's wife. 

(Gives his purse to JeAK- 
Money is no equivalent for life, 
And take this ring, — g >od mistress here's another, 
With this I 'nhst you for young Harry's mother. 
Jean, Excuse me Sir, — my lips cannot impart 
The warm emotions of my grateful heart. 

Mir. It's goud, it's goud ! O yes,. Sir — I agree. "* 
Gaffer, it's goud ! Yes, '' Love shoiid ay be free/* 
Gaf. Daft woman cease. 

Laird. ..And as for you, good Gafifer, 

My steward will inform what's in your favour. 
Mean time, prepare the Wedding to your wills, 
Invite mv tenants from the neighV/ring hills, 
Then, feast, drink, dance till each one tynes his senses. 
And spare no cost, for I shall pay the expenses- 

Harry. Most gen'rous Sir, to tell how much I owe. 
I'm wenk in words — let time and actions show. 
Laird. My dearest friend — I pray no more of this, 



Would I couW mate you happy as I wish ; 
From him most henejited most is due, 
And sure the debt belongs from me to you. — 
Attend the niansion, soon as morning's Hght— 
And now, niy friends, I wish you all good night. 

Marry, Great is his soul ! soft be his bed of rest, 
Whose only wish is to make others blest. 

Mir. I'll gang to kirk neist Sunday, odd*9 my life ! 
This gouden rmg will vex Glen-Cragie's wife. 

Gaf, Wife — :fy ! let pride an' envy gang the gither, 
This house I hope will ne'er be fash't wi' either; 
Ay be content wi* what ye hae yoursel'. 
An' never grudge to see a nei'bour's weel.— 
But Harry, man, I lang to hear you sing, 
Ye wont to mak' our glens and plantin's ring. 

Harry. My heart was never on a cautier key^ 
I'll sing you one with true spontaneous glee. 

SONG. 

Air,-— ** My laddie is gane.^* 
from the rude bustling camp, to the calm rural plaio^. 
I'm come, my dear Jeanie, . to bless thee again ; . 
Still burning for honour our warriors may roam, 
But the laurel I wish'd for I've won it at home ; 
All the glories of conquest no joy could impart. 
When far from the kind little girl of ray heart. 
Now, safely return'd, I will leave thee no more. 
But love my dear Jeanie till life's latest hour. 

The sweets of retirement, how pleasing to me ! 
Possessing all worth, my dear Jeanie, in thee ! 
Our flocks early bleating will wake us to joy, 
And our raptures exceed tiie warm tints in the sky; 



in sweet rural pastimes our days still will glide, 
Till time looking back wiU admire at his speed. 
Still blooming in Virtue, tho' youth then be o'er, 
I'll love my dear Jeanie till life's latest hour* 

Enier MuiRLAND. 

Muir. That's nobly sung, ray hearty sodger callan, 
IVe heard you a' ahint the byre-dore hallan ; 
I see my fa'ts, I've chang'd my foolish views, 
An' now I'm come to beg for your excuse, 
The sang sings true, I own't without a swither, 
*' Auld age an* young can never gree the gither^ 
I think, thro' life I'll mak' a canny fen*, 
Wi' hurcheon Nancy o' the hazle-glen ; 
She has my vows, but ay I let her stan*. 
In Slopes to won that bonny lassie's han* ; 
O fooUsh thought, I maist cou'd greet wi' spit^ 
But it was sleeky luve had a' the wyte : 
Nae mair let fortune pride in her deserts, 
Her goud may purchase hans, but ne'er can sow^itr 
hearts, 
Gaf, The man wha sees his fa'ts an* strives ta 
men' 'em, 
Does mair for virtue than he ne'er had haen 'era ; 
An" he wha deals in scandal only gains 
A rich repay of scandal, for his pains : 
Ye hae our free excuse, ye needna' doubt it, 
Ye'li ne'er, for us, mair hear a word about it. 

Muir, That s a' I wish'd — I cou'dna bide the 
thought, 
To live on earth an' bear your scorn in ocht ; 
My heart's now hale, — ye soon shall hear the 
Proclaim'd i' the Parish Kirk 'tween me an' Nanse ; 



Tm no* the first auld chield wKa's gotten a slight. 
I'B owre the muir— -sae fareweel a this night, [^Exii, 

Gqf, Of a' experience, that bears aff the bell, 
Whilk lets a body rightly ken' himsel'. 

Jean. May lasses, when their joes are far frae hame 
Bid stragghn' v/ooers gang the road they came ; 
Else, aiblins, when their moonshine course shifts past 
They'll hae to wed auld dotards at the last, 

Mir, Guldwives should ay be subject to their men, 
1*11 ne'er speak contrar to your will again. 

Gctf. That's right, guidewlfe,-— I'm sure I weel may 
say, 
Glenifeock never saw sae blest a day. 
Young fouks, — we'll set the bridal day tlie mom, 
But Lucky, haste bring ben the Christmas horn, 
Let's pour ae sacred bumper to the Laird, 
A glass, to crown a wish, was never better wair'd. 

Harry. While I was yet a boy, my parents died. 
And left me poor and friendless, wand'ring wide. 
Your goodness found me, 'neatli your fost'ring care, 
I learn'd those precepts which I'll stiil revere, 
And now, to heav'n, for length of Ufe I pray,^ 
With filial love your goodness to repay, 

Gaf, This sacred maxim let us still regard^ 
That " Virtue ever is its oivn reward ^ 
And what we give to succour the distrest. 
Calls down from heav'n a blessing on the rest. 



Sottas. 

THE STORM. 

WRITTEJSr IN" OCTOBER. 



iN OW the dark rains of autumn discolour the brook. 
And the rough winds of winter the woodlands deform, 

Here, lonely 1 lean by the sheltering rock, 
Alist'ning the voice of the loud-howling stortUt 

Now dreadfully furious it roars on the hill, 

The deep-groaning oaks seem all writhing with paia. 

Now awfully calm, for a moment 'tis still, 
Then bursting it howls and it thunders again. 

How cheerless and desert the fields now appear, 
Which so lately in summer's rich verdure were seen. 

And each sad drooping spray from its heart drops a tear, 
As seeming to weep its lost mantle of green. 

See, beneath the rude wall of yon ruinous pile, 
From the merciless tempest the cattle have fled ; 

And yon poor patient steed at the gate by the stile, 
Looks wistfully home for his sheltering shed. 

Ah ! who would not feel for yon poor gipsy race, 
Peeping out from the door of yon old roofless barn ? 

There my wandering fancy her fortunes might trac% 
And sour discontent there a lesson might lem»k 
C 



^6 

Tet oft in my bosom arises the sigh, 

That prompts the warm wish distant scenes to 
explore ; 
Hope gilds the fair prospect with visions of joy. 

That happiness reigns on some far distant shore. 

But yon grey hermit-tree wliich stood lone on the moor, 
By the fierce driving blast to the earth is blown down; 
So the lone houseless wand'rer unheeded and poor, 
May fall unprotected, unpitied, unknown. 

See o'er the grey steep, down the deep craggj' glen, 
Pours the brown foaming torrent, swell'd big with 
the rain. 

It rears thro* the caves of its dark wizard den. 

Then headlong, impetuous it sweeps thro* the plain. 

Now the dark heavy clouds have unbosora'd their stores 
And far to the westward the welkin is blue. 

The sullen winds hiss as they die on the moors, 
And the sun faintly shines on yon bleak mountain's 
brow. 



THE AMBITIOUS MITE. 

A FABLE, 

VV HEN hope persuades, and fame inspires U3^ 
And pride with warm ambition fires us, 
Let Reason instant seize the bridle, 
And wrest us frae the. Passion's guidal j 



Else, like the hero of oiir fable, 
We'll aft be plung'd into a babble, 

'Twas on a bonny simmer day, 
When a* the insect tribes wer' gay ; 
Some journeying o'er the leaves o' roses, 
Some brushing thrang their wings an' nose^j, 
Some wallowing sweet in bramble blossom, 
In luxury's saft downy bosom ; 
While itliers of a lower order, 
Were perch'd on plantain leaf's smooth border, 
Wha frae their twa-inch steeps look'd down, 
An* view'd the kintra far aroun'. 

Ae pridefu e//araang the rest, 
Wha's pin-point heart bumpt 'gainst his breast, 
To work some mighty deed offame^ 
That wou'd immortalize his name ; 
Thro' future hours wou'd hand him -down, 
The wonder of an afternoon. 
(For ae short day wi' them appears, 
As lang's our lengthen'd hunder years.) 

By chance, at hand, a howd horse-hair 
Stood up six inches high in air ; 
He plan'd to climb this lofty arch, 
Wi' philosophic deep research, 
To prove (which aft perplex'd their heads) 
What people peopl'd ither blades, 
Or from keen observation, show. 
Whether they peopld were or no. 

Our tiny hero onward hies, 
Quite big with daring enterprize, 
Ascends the hair's curvatur'd side. 



Now pale with fear, now r^d with pridtfl 
Now hangin* pend'Ious by the claw, 
Now glad at having 'scap'd a fa' : 
What horrid dangers jie came thrp*^ 
Wou'd trifling seejp for nian to know j 
Suffice, at length he reach'd the top, 
The summit of his pride and hope. 
And on his elevated station, 
Had plac'd hiraser for observation, 
When puff — the wind did end the.raatterp 
And dash'd him in a horse-hoof gutter. 

Sae let the lesson gi'en us here, 
Keep each within his proper sphere, 
And when our fancies tak' their flight. 
Think on the wee avihitious mite* 



THE TRIFLER^S SABBATH-DAY. 

X^OUD sounds the deep^-mouth'd parish-bell> 

Religion kirkward hies, 
John lies in bed and counts each knell, 

And thinks 'tis time to rise. 

But, O how weak are man's resolves I 

His projects ill too keep, 
John thrusts his nose beneath the clothesj 

And dozes o'er asleep. 

Now fairy-faricy plays her freaks 

Upon his sleep-swell'd brain ; 
He dreams— he starts — ^he mutt'ring speaks. 

And waukens wi' a grane. 



m 

He rubs his een — the clock strikes Twelve- 

ImpeU'd by hunger's gripe, 
One mighty effort backs resolve — 

He's up — at last he's up ! 

Hunger appeasM — ^his cutty pipe 

Employs his time till Two, — ■ 
And now he saunters thro* the houscj 

And knows not what to do. 

He baits the trap — catches a mouse- 
He sports it round the floor — 

He swims it in a water tub — 
Gets glorious fun till Four ! 

And now of cats, and mice, and rats. 

He tells a thousand tricks. 
Till even dulness tires herself, 

For hark — the clock strikes Six-l 

Now view him in his easy chair 

Recline his pond'rous head ; 
Tis Eight — now Bessie raiks the fire, 

And John must go to bed ! 



DIRGE. 

Written on reading an Account o/' Robert BuRNS* 
FuneraL 

ijET grief for ever doud the day, 
That saw our Bard bgrne to the clay j 



so 

Let joy be banish'd every eye, 

And nature, weeping seem to cry, 

** He's gone, he's gone ! he*s frae us torn I 
" The ae best fellow e'er was born !" 

"Let shephferds from the mountain steep, 
Look down oh widow'd Nith, and weep, 
Let rustic swaifts their labours leave, 
And sighing murmur o'er his grave, 

*' He's gone, he's gone ! &c» 

Let bonny Doon and winding Ayr, 
Their bushy banks in anguish tear, 
While many a tributary stream. 
Pours down its griefs to swell the themcy 
" He's gone, he's gone ! &c« 

All dismal let the night descend, 
Let whirling storms the forests rend, 
Let furious tempests sweep the sky, 
And dreary-howling caverns cry, 

" He's gone, he's gone, he's frae us torn ? 

** The ae best fellow e'er was born !" 



ODE TO JEALOUSY 



oVXARK what demon hither bends, 
Gnawing still his finger-ends, 
Wrapt in contemplation deep, 
Wrathful, yet incliu'd to weep. 



31 

Thy wizar(3 gait, tliy breath -Gheck*(3 broken sigh, 
Thy burning cheeks, thy lips, black, vvither'd, dry ; 
Thy side-thrown glance, with wild malignant eye, 
Betray thy foul intent, infernal Jealousy. 

Hence, thou self-tormenting^<?»c?, 
To thy spleen-dug cave descend, 
Fancying wrongs that never were, 
Rend thy bosom, tear thy hair, 
Brood fell hate within ihy den, 
Come not ne'er the haunts of men. 

Let 7)ian be faithful to his brother man, 
Nor guileful, still revert kind heaven's plan, 
Then slavish fear, and mean distrust shall cease, 
And confidence, confirm a lasting mental peace. 

BAUDRONS AND THE HEN-BIRD. 

J FABLE. 

I^OMiS fo'ks there are of such behaviour, 
They'll cringe themselves nito your favour, 
And when you think their friendship staunch is, 
They'll tear your cJiarader to inches : 
T' enforce this truth, as weei's I'm able, 
Please reader to peruse afahlc. 

Deborah, an auld wealthy maiden, 
Wr' spleen, remorse, an' scandal laden, 
Sought out a solitary spat. 
To live in quiet with her cat, 



A raeikie, sonsy, tabby she ane, 
(For Deborah abhor'd a he ane^) 
And in the house to be a third, ^ 
She gat a wee hen ckuchy bird. 

Soon as our slee nocturnal ranger, 
Beheld the wee bit timid stranger, 
She thus began, wi' frien'Iy fraise, 
*' Come ben poor thing, an' warm your taes ; 
** This weather's cauld, an' wet, an dreary, 
^' I'm wae to see you look sae eary, 
*' Sers ! how your tail an' wings are dreeping, 
** YeVe surely been in piteous keeping ; 
*' See, here's my dish, come tak' a pick o't, 
** But, deed I fear there's scarce a lick o't." 

Sic sympathizing words o' sense. 
Soon gain'd poor cAwc%'* confidence. 
An' while Deborah mools some crumbs, 
Auld baudrons sits an' croodlin' thrums : 
In short, the twa soon grew sae pack, 
Chuck roosted upon pussies back ! 

But ere sax wee short days war' gane, 
When baith left i' the house alane, 
Then thinks the ht/pocritic sinner. 
Now, now's my time to hae a dinner,- 
Sae, wi' a squat, a spring, an'squal, 
She tore poor chucht/ spawl frae spawL 

Then mind' this maxim, — Rash acquaintance^ 
Oft leads to ruin and repentance. 



33 



ON INVOCATION. 

X^ET ither Sards exhaust their stock 
Of heav'niy names, on lieav'aiy fo'k, 
An' gods an' goddesses invofeej 

To guide the pen, 
While, just as well, a barbei-'s block 

Wou'd ser' their en\ 

Nae muse hae I like guld Scotch drinky 
It mak's the dormant saul to thiak, 
Gars wit and ryhme the-gither clink, 

in canty measure, 
An' even tho' ha'f -fou' we wink, 

Inspires wl' pleasure, 

Whyles dulness stands for modest merit, 
And impudence for manly spirit; 
To ken what worth each does inherit, 

Just rry the bo 3, 
Sen' roun' the Glass, an' dinna spaie ir, 

Ye'll see their mettle. 

O would the gods but grant my wish, 
My constant prayr wou'd be for this. 
That, lo?e sincere, with health an' peace, 

My lot they'd clink in> 
With now an'-then the social joys 

O' friendly drlnkin'* 



34^ 

AnA when youth's rattlin' days are done. 
An* age brings on life's afternoon ; 
Then like a summer's setting sun, 

Brightly serene^ 
Smiling look back, an* slidder down 

To rise again. 



THE PARNASSIAD. 

A VISlOyjRY VIEW, * 

V/OME Fancy, thou hast ever been, 
In life's low vale, my ready frien*, 

To cheer the clouded hour ; 
Tho* unfledg'd with scholastic law, 
Some visionai'y picture draw, 
With all thy magic power ; 
Now to the intellectual eye 

The glowing prospects risCj 
Parnassus' lofty summits high, 
Far tow'ring mid the skies, 
Where vernally, eternally, 

Rich leafy laurels grov/, 
With bloomy bays, thro' endless days. 
To crown the Poet's brow. 

Sure hold is he who dares to climb 
Yon awful jutting rock sublime, 

Who dares Pegassus sit. 
For should brain ballast prove too light, 
He'll spurn him from his aiiy height, 

Down to oblivion's pit; 



85 

There, to disgrace for ever doom'd, 

To mourn his sick'ning woes, 
And weep that ever he presumed 
Above the vale of Prose ; 

Then O beware with prudent care, 

Nor 'tempt the steeps of fame, 
And leave behind thy peace of mind, 
To gain a sounding name*. 

Behold — ^yon ready-rhyming carl. 
With flatt'ry fir'd, attracts the warl. 

By canker'd, persnal satire ; 
He takes th* unthinking croud's acclaimj 
For sterling proofs of lasting fame, 

And deals his inky spatter ; 
Now, see he on Pegassiis flies. 

With bluff, important straddle ! 
He bears him midway up the skies, 
See, see he's off the saddle ! 

He headlong tumbles, growls and grumbleSj 

Down the dark abyss : 
The noisy core that prais'd before, 
Now joins the gen'ral hiss. 

Now see another venturer rise, 
Deep-fraught with fulsome Eulogies, 

To win his patron's favour, 
One of those adulating things. 
That dangling in the train of k — ^^s, 

Give guilt a splendid cover; 

• The career of genius is rarely that of fortune ; and of- 
ten Uiat of contempt: even in its most flattering aspect, what 
IS It, but plucking a few brilliant flowers from precipices, 
yrbjlc the reward teri»inates in the bonour.— D* Israeli. 



36 

He mounts, well-prefac'd by w^ Lotdf 

Inflicts the spur's sharp wound ; 

'Pegassui spurns the gteat mans word, 

And wont move from the ground ; 

Now mark his face flush'd with disgrace^ 

Thro* future life to grieve on, 
His wishes crost, his hopes all lost, 
He sinks into oblivion. 

Yon city scribbler thinks to scale 
The cliffs of fame with Pastoral^ 

In worth thinks none e'er richer, 
Yet never dim b'd the upland steep, 
Nor e'er beheld a flock of sheep, 

Save those driven by the butcher; 
Kor ever mark'd the gurgling streams 

Except the common se w'r, 
On rainy days, when dirt aiid slime 
Pour'a turbid past his door. 

Choice epithes in stdrie he gets 

From Virgil, Skensfon, Pope, 
"With tdylor-art tacks part to partj 
And makes his Past'ral up. 

But see, rich-clad in native worth, 
Yon Bard oi nature ventures forthj 

In simple modest tale ; - 
AppiauditJf^ millions catch the song, 
The raptur*d rocks the notes prolongs 

And hand them to the gale; 
Pegassus kneels — he takes his seat-«« 

Now see, aloft he tow'rs, 



S7 

To place lilm 'bove the reach of fate, 
In Fame's ambrosial bow'ers : 

To be enroU'd with Bards of old, 
In ever honour'd station, — 
. The gods well pleas'd, see mortals rals'd 
Worthy of their creation I 

Now mark what crowds of hachney-scrihUerSy 
Imitators, rhyming dabbJers, 

Fojtow in the rear ! 
Pegasus spurns us one by one. 
Yet still fame-struck we follow on, 

And tempt our fate severe. 
In many a doggerel Epitaph, 

And short-lin'd, mournful Ditty, 
Our " AHS ! — ALASES !" raise the laugh. 
Revert the tide of pity. 

Yet still we write in nature's spite. 

Our last piece ay the best ; 
Arraigning still, complaining still. 
The world for want of taste !* 

Observe yon poor deluded man, 
With thread-bare coat and visage wan. 

Ambitious oi a name ; 
The nat'ral claims of meat and cleading. 
He reckons these not worth the heeding. 

But presses on for fame 1 

• " Still restless fancy drives us headlong on. 

With dreams of wealth, and friends, and laurels won,' 
On ruin's brink we sleep, and wake undone*'' 
D 



88 

The public voice, ioucli-sione of worth. 

Anonymous he tries, 
But draws the critic's vengeance forth— 
His fancied glory dies. 

Neglected now, dejected now^ 

He gives his spleen full scope. 
In solitude he chews his cude, 
A downright misanthrope. 

Then IBrother-rliymsters^ O beware I 
Nor tempt unscar'd the specious snare, 

Which self-love often weaves ; 
Nor doat with a fond father's pains, 
Upon the offspring of your brains, 

For fancy oft deceives. 
To lighten life, a wee bit sang 

Is sure a sweet illusion ! 
But ne'er provoke the critic's sting, 
By premature intrusion. 

Lock up your piece, let fondness cease, 

Till memry fall to bear it, 
With critlc-lore then read it o'er, 
Yourself may judge its merit. 



ODE. 

Written for, and read at the Celebration of RoBERT 
Burns' Birth-day, Paisley, 2Qth Jan, 1S05. 

vJ'NCE on a tlirie, almighty JoVE 
Invited all the minor gods above, 



To spend one day in social Jestive pleasure i 

His regal robes were laid aside. 

His crown, his sceptre, and his pride : 

And wing'd with joy, 

The hours did fly, 

The happiest ever time did measure. 

Of love and social harmony they sung, 

Till heaven's high golden arches echoing rung ; 

And as they quafF'd the nectar-flowing cann, 

Their toast was, 

** Universal peace 'iivixt man and man J* 

Their godship's eyes beam'd gladness with the wish, 

And Mars half redden'd with a guilty blush ; 

Jove swore he'd hurl each rascal to perdition. 

Who'd dare deface his works with wild ambition ; 

But pour'd encomiums on each patriot band, 

Who hating conquest guard their native land. 

Loud thund'ring plaudits shook the bright abodes^ 

Till Merc'ry, solemn voic'd, assailed their ears. 

Informing that a stranger, all in tears. 

Weeping, iraplor'd an audience of the gods. 

Jove, ever prone to succour the distrest, 
A swell i-edressive glow'd within his breast ; 
He pitied much the stranger's sad condition, 
And order'd his immediate admission. 

The stranger enter'd, bow'd respect to all, 
Ilespectful silence reign'd throughout the hall. 
His chequer d robes excited their surprise, 
Richly transvers'd with various glowing dyes ; 



40 

A target on h jsstrong left arm he bore, 

Broad as the shield the mighty Fingal wore, 

7 he glowing landscape on its centre shin'd. 

And massy thistles round the borders twin'd ; 

H s brows were bound with yellow blossom'd brooniy 

Green birch and roses blending in perfume ; 

His eyes beam'd honour, tho" all red with grief, 

A i us heav'ns King spake comfort to the Chief. 

*' . iy son, let speech unfold thy cause of woe, 

S. .', whv does melancholy cloud thy brow ? 

*Tis mine the wrongs of virtue to redress : 

Speak, for 'tis mine to succour deep distress." 

Then thus he spake — " O king ! by thy command, 

I am the guardian of that far-fam'd land 

Nam'd Caledonia, great in arts and arms. 

And every worth that social fondness charms. 

With every virtue that the heart approves, 

"Warm in their friendships, rapt'rous in their loves. 

Profusely generous, obstinately just, 

Inflexible as death their vows of trust ; 

For Independence fires their noble minds, 

Scorning deceit, as gods do scorn the fiends. 

But what avail the virtues of the North, 

No Patriot Bard to celebrate their worth, 

No heav'n taught Minstrel, with the voice of song. 

To hymn their deeds, and make their names live long: 

And, ah ! sh.'uld luxury, with soft winning wiles, 

Spread her contagion o*er my subject isles, 

My hardy sons, no longer valour's boast, 

Would sink, despis'd, their wonted greatness lost. 

Forgive my wish, O king \ I speak with awe. 

Thy will IS fate, thy word is sovereign law i 



O, wouHst thou deign thy suppliant to regard, 
And grant my country one true Patriot Bard, 
My sons would glory in the blessing given, 
And virtuous deeds spring from the gift of heaveft I 

To which the god — " My son, cease to deplore. 
Thy name in song shall sound the world all o'er ; 
Thy Bard shall rise full-fraught with all the fire 
That heav'n and free-born nature can inspire. 
Ye sacred Nine, your golden harps prepare, 
T' instruct the fav'rite of ray special care. 
That whether the song be rais'd to war or love, 
His soul-wing'd strains may equal those above. 
^owjaithful to thy trusty from sorrow free, 
Go wait the issue of our high decree." — 
Speechless the Genius stood, in glad surprise, 
Adoring gratitude beam'd in his eyes : 
The promised Bard his soul with transport fills^. 
And light with joy he sought his native hills, 

'Twas in regard of Wallace and his worth,, 
Jove honour'd Coila with his birth; 

And on that morn, 

When Burns was born, 

Each Muse with joy 

Did hail the boj ; 
And fame on tiptot, fain would blown her horn^ 
But fate forbade the blast, too premature, 
Till worth should sanction i: beyond the critic's powV»^ 

His merits proven — fame her blast hath blown, 
Kow Scotia s Bard o*er all the world is known--*^ 



42 

But trembling doubts, here check my unpolished lays, 
What can they add to a whole world's praise : 
Yet, while revolving time this day returns, 
Let Scotchmen glory in the name of BuRNS. 



ODE. 

In Imitation o/'PlNDAR, 

X HE similes a very useful thing, 

This, priests and poets needs must own, 

For when the clock-work of their brains runs down^ 

A simile winds up the mental spring ; 
For instance^ when a priest does scan 

The fall of man, 
And all its consequences dire, 

He makes him first a little sportive pig^ 

So clean, so innocent, so trig. 

And then an aged sow, deep wallowing in the mire! 

Yes, sure the simile's a useful thing, 
Another instance I will bring. 

Thou'st seen a cork tost on the rain-swell*d stream, 
Now up, now down, now whirl'd round and round, 

Yet still 'twould swim. 
And all the torrent's fury could not drown*t ; 

So hftve J seen a forward, empty ^op 
Tost in wit's blanket, ridicul'd, &c. 

Yet after all the banter, off he'd hop, 
Quite confident in ielf- sufficiency. 



4S 

Ah ! had kind heaveUi 
For a defence, 
Allow'd me half the brazen confidence, 
That she to many a cork-brain d fool, hath given. 

THE PORTRAIT OF GUILT. 

In Imitation o/'Lewis. 

- X WAS ni^ht and the winds thro' the dark forest 

roar'd, 
From heaven's wide cat'racts the torrents down pour'd, 

And blue lightnings flash'd on the eye ; 
Demoniac howlings were heard in the air, 
\^'it\\ groans of deep anguish, and shrieks of despair, 

And hoarse thunders growl' d thro' the sky. 

Pale, breatheless, and trembling the darh villain stood, 
His hands and his clothes all bespotted with blood, 

His eyes wild with terror did stare ; 
The earth yawn'd around him, and sulph'rous blue, 
From the flame boiling gaps, did expose to his view 

A gibbet and skeleton bare. 

With horror he shrunk from a prospect so dread, 
The blast swung the clanking chains Over his head, 

The rattling bones sung in the wind ; 
The lone bird of night from the abbey did cry^ 
He look'd o'er his shoulder intending to fly^ 

But a spectre stood gha§tlj behind. 



" Stop, deep, he\\-ta.ught villamr tlie ^^*^did exclaim, 
*^ With thy brother of guilt here to expiate thy crime, 

*' And atone for thy treacherous vow: 
*' *Tis here thou shalt hang to the vultures a prey, 
*•' Till piece-meal they tear thee and bear thee away, 

** And thy bones rot unbiiried below," 

Now closing all around him fierce demont did throng, 
In sounds all unholy they howl'd their death song. 

And the vultures around them did scream ; 
Now clenching their claws in his fear-bristled hair, 
Loud yelling they bore him aloft in the air, 

And the MurdVer awoke — 'Twas a Dream! 



THE HAUNTET WUD. 

In Imitation of John Barbour, an old Scotch PoeL 

V^UH Y screim the crowis owr yonder wud. 

With loude and clamouryng dynne, 
Haf deifenynge the torrentis roare, 

Quhilk dashis owr yon hnne ? 

Quhy St ray e the flokis far outowr, 

Alang the stanery lee, 
And wil nocht graze anear the wud, 

Thof ryclie the pasturis be ? 

And quhy dis oft the sheipherdis dog, 

Gif that ane lamikyne straye; 
Ay yamf and yowl besyde the wud, 

Nae farthir yn wil gaye ? 



45 

" Marvll thee nocht at quhat thou selsl,** 
The tremblynge Rusticke sayde, 

** For yn that Jeindishauntet wudy 
Hath guyltiles blude been sched. 

" Thou selst far down yon buschye howe, 

An eldrin castil greye, 
Witht teth of tyrae, and weir of wyndis, 

Fast mouldiryng yn decaye. 

*' 'Twas ther the jealous Barrone Hvit, 

Witht Lady Anne hys wyfe, 
He fleichit her neatht that wudis dark glume, 

And revit hyr ther of lyffe. 

" And eir hyr fayre bodye was founde, 

The flesch cam fra the bane, 
The snailis sat, feistyng onne hyr cheikis, 

The spydms veUt hyr ein. 

" And evir syne nae heist nor byrde 

Will byde twa nichtis iher, 
For fearful yellis and screichis wylde 

Are heird throch nicht sae dreir." 

'Twas thus dark ignorance did ween, 

In fancy's wizard-reign, 
When minstrel-fiction won belief, 
• O'er Scotland's wide domain. 



46 



THE CHOICE. 



J. E vot'ries of pleasure aud ease, 

Proud, wasting in riot the day, 
Drive on your career as ye please, 

Let me follow a different way. 
The woodland, the raounlam, and hill, 

With the birds singing sweet from the tree^ 
The soul with serenity fill, 

And have pleasures more pleasing to me. 

When I see yon parade thro' the streets, 

With affected, unnatural airs, 
I smile at your low, trifling gaits, 

And could heartily lend you my pray'rs. 
Great Jove ! was it ever design'd, 

That man should his reason lay down, 
And barter the peace of his mind, 

For the follies and fashions of town ? 

I'll retire to yon broom- cover'd fields, 

On the green mossy turf I'll rechnCj 
The pleasures that solitude yields, 

Composure and peace shall be mine. 
There Thomson or Shenstoh I'll read, 

Well-pleas'd with each well-manag'd theme, 
With nothing to trouble my head, 

But ambition to imitate them. 



47 
EPISTLE. 

TO A. B*RL**D, 



Feb. i8oe. 



XvETIR*D, disgusted, from the tavern-roar, 
Where strong lung'd ignorance does highest soar ; 
Where silly ridicule is past for wit / 
And shallow laughter takes her gaping fit; 
Here lone I sit, in musing melancholy, 
Resolv'd for ay to shun the court of Jolly / 
For, from whole years' experience in her train, 
One hour of joy brings tiueniy hours of pain. 
Now since I'm on the would-be-better key, 
The muse soft whispers me to write to thee, 
Not that she means a self-debasing letter, 
But merely shew there's hopes I may turn better j 
That what stands bad to ray account of ill, 
You may set down to passion not to will. 

The fatie-scourg'd exile destined still to roam. 
Thro* desert wilds, far from. his early home. 
If some fair prospect meet his sorrowing eyes, 
Like that he own'd beneath his native skies. 
Sad recollection, murthering relief, 
He bursts in all the agonies of grief ; 
Mem'ry presents the volume of his care. 
And " harrows up his soul" with " such things were:' 
'Tis so in life, when youth folds up his page, 
And turns the leaf to dark, blank, joyless age. 
Where sad experience speaks in language plain, 
Her thoughts of bliss, and highest hopes were vain ; 
O'er present ills I* think I see her mourn, 
And, ** weep past joys that never will return.*^ 



48 

Then come, my friend, while yet in life's gay noon, 
Ere grief's dark clouds obscure our summer sun, 
Ere winter's sleety blasts around us howl, 
And chill our ev'ry energy of soul — 
Let us look back, retrace the ways we've trod, 
Mark virtue's paths from guilty pleasure's road. 
And, stead of wand'ring in a devious maze, 
Mark some few precepts for our future days. 

I mind, still well, when but a trifling boy. 
My young heart fluttered with a savagej'oy. 
As with my sire I wander 'd thro' the wood, 
And found the mavis' clump-lodg'd, callow brood, 
I tore them thence, exulting o'er my prize, 
My father bade me list the mother's cries : 
" So thine would tvaii,*' he said, ** if reft of(liee" 
It was a lesson of humanity. 
Humanity! thou'rt glory's brightest star, 
Out-shining all the conqueror's trophies far ! 
One individual act of generous pity 
Is nobler far than ravaging a city ; 
Ev'n let the blood stain'd ruffians call thee coward, 
An Alexander sinks beside a Howard, 

Not to recount our every early joy ^ 
When all was happiness without alloy ; 
Nor tread again each flow'ry field we trac'd, 
Light as the silk-wing'd butterflies we chacM ; 
Ere villain falsehood taught the glowing mind. 
To look with cold suspicion on mankind — 
Let's pass the valley of our younger years. 
And further up-hill mark what now appears. 
We see the sensualist, fell vice's slave, 
Fatigu'd, worn out, sink to an earl^ grave ; 



49 

We see the slave of av' rice grind the poor, 
His thirst for gold increasing with his store ; 
Pack-horse of fortune, all his days are care, 
Her burthens bearing to his spendthrift heir. 

Next view the spendthrifty joyous o'er his purse, 
Exchanging all his guineas for remorse ; 
On pleasure's flow'r-deck'd barge away he's borne, 
Supine, till «v'ry flow'r starts up a thorn ; 
Then all his pleasures fly, like air-borne bubbles — 
He ruin'd sinks, " amidst a sea of troubles." 
Hail TEMPERANCE ! thou'rt wisdom's first, best lore, 
The sage in ev'ry age does thee adore ; 
Within thy pale we taste of ev'ry joy, 
O'er-stepping that^ our highest pleasures cloy; 
The heart-eniiv'ning, friendly social bowl, 
To rapt'rous extasy exalts the soul ; 
But when to midnight houV we keep it upf 
Next morning feels the poison of the cup. 

Tho' fate forbade the gifts of schoolmen mine, 
With classic-art to write the polish'd Une, 
Yet miners oft must gather earth with gold, 
And truth may strike, tho' e'er so roughly told. 

If thou in aught would'st rise to eminence^ 
Show not the faintest shadow of pretence, 
Else busy scandal^ with her thousand tongues. 
Will quickly find thee in ten thousand wrongs ; 
Each strives to tear his neighbour's honour down, 
As if detracting something from his own. 
Of all the ills with which mankind are curst, 
An envious, discontented mind\ the worst : 
There muddy spleen exalts her gloomy throne, 
Marks all conditions better than her own ; 



50 

Hence defamation spreads her ant-bear tongue. 
And grimly pleas'd, feeds on another's wrong. 
Curse on the wretch, who, when his neighbour's blest| 
Erects his peace-destroying, snaky crest ! 
And he who sits in surly, sullen mood, 
Repining at a fellow-mortal's good ! 
Man owns so little of true happiness, 
That curst be he who makes that little leig» 

Vice to reclaim join not the old cant cry, 
Of " son of Sathan, guilt, and misery ;** i; 

One good example, more the point will carry. 
Than all th' abuse in scandars dictionary. 

The zealot thinks he'll go to heav'n direct. 
Adhering to the tenets of his sect, 
E'en tho' his practice lie in this alone. 
To rail at all persuasions but his own. 

In judging, still let moderation guide ; 
O'er-heated %eal is certain to mislead. 
First bow to God in heart'warm gratitude. 
Next do our utmost for the general good. 
In spite of all the forms which men devise, 
'Tis there where real solid wisdom lies ; 
And impious is the man who claims dominion. 
To damn his neighbour difF'ring in opinion. 

When suppliiint viisery greets thy wand'ring eyCi 
Altho' in public, pass not heedless by, 
Distress impels her to implore the crowd. 
For that denied within her lone abode ; 
Give thou the trifling pittance which she craves^ 
Tho' ostentation call'd by prudent knaves ; 
So conscience will a rich reward impart, 
And finer feelings play around thy heart. 



•^1 

When wealth with arrogance exalts his brow^ 
And reckons poverty a wretch most low, 
Let good intentions dignify the soul, 
And conscious rectitude will crown the whole : 
Hence indigence will independence own, 
And soar above the haughty despot's frown. 

Still to thy lot be virtuously resiga'd ; 
Above all treasures prize thy peace of mind ; 
Then let not envy rob thy soul of rest, 
Nor discontent e'er harbour in thy breast. 
Be not too fond of popular applause, 
Which often echoes in a villain's cause, 
Whose specious sophistry gilds his deceit, 
Till pow'r abused, in time shews forth the cheat i 
Yet be't thy pride to bear an honest fame ; 
More dear than life watch over thy good name ; 
For he, poor man ! who has no wish to gain it^ 
Despises all the virtues which attain it. 

Of friendship, still be secrecy the test. 
This maxim let be 'graven in my breast — 
Whate'er a friend enjoins me to conceal, 
I'm weak, I'm base if I the same reveal : 
Let honour, acting as a powerful spell, 
Suppress that itching fondness still to tell ; 
Else, unthank'd chronicle, the cunning's tool, 
The world will stamp thee for a gossip fool. 
Yet let us act an honest open part, 
Nor curb the warm effusions of the heart, 
Which, naturally, virtuous, discommends 
Aught mean or base, e'en in our dearest friends. 

But why this long unjointed scrawl to thee, 
Whose every action is a law to me, 



52 

Whose every deed proclaims thy noble mind ; 
Industrious, independent, just, and kind. 
Methinks I hear thee say, " Each fool may teach. 
Since now my whim-led friend's begun to preach 1" 
But this first essay of my preaching strain, 
Hear, and accept for friendship's sake. Amen. 

THE BACCHANALIANS. 

EnCIRCL'D in a cloud of smoke. 

Sat the convivial core^ 
Like light'ning flash'd the merry joke, 

The thund'ring laugh did roar ; 
Blythe Bacchus pierc'd his fav'rite hoard. 

The sparkling glasses shine : 
** 'Tis this (they cry) come sweep the board, 

Which makes us all divine.'* 

Apollo tun'd the vocal shell, 

With song, with catch, and glee ; 
The sonorous hall the notes did swell. 

And echoed merrily. 
Each sordid, selfish little thought, 

For shame itself did drown, 
And social love, with every draught, 

Approv'd them for her own. 

*' Come fill another bumper up, 

" And drink in Bacchus' praise, 
" Who sent the kind congenial cup, 

*' Such heavenly joys to raiseo" 



53 

Great Jove, quite mad to see such fun, 

At Bacchus 'gan to curse, 
^nd to remind they were but men, 

Sent domj the fiend Remorse. 



THE FILIAL VOW, 

W H Y heaves my Mother oft tlie deep-drawn sigh ? 
Why starts the big tear glist'ning in her eye ? 
Why oft retire to hide her bursting grief? 
Why seeks sbe not, nor seems to wish relief? 
'Tis for ray Father mould'ring with the dead, 
My Brother in bold manhood lowly laid, 
And for the pains wljtch age is doom'd to bear, 
She heaves the deep-drawn sigh, and drops the secret 

tear. 
Yes, partly these her gloomy thoughts employ, 
But mostly this o'erclouds her every joy, 
She grieves to think she may be burthensome, 
Now feeble, old, and tott'ring to the tomb. 

hear roe Heaven ! and record my Vow, 
Its non-performance let thy wrath pursue ! 

1 swear — Of what thy providence may give, 
My Mother shall her due maintenance have. 
'Twas bers, to guide me through life's early day, 
To point out vu-tue's paths and lead the way, 
Now, while her powr's in frigid languour sleep, 
*Tis mine, to liand her, down life's rugged steep ; 
W^ith all her little weaknesses to bear, 
Attentive, kind, to sooth her every care ; 

'Tis nature bids, and trnest pleasure Jioic^y 
Erom lesseofftfi: an aged Parent's woes» 



54* 

EILD. 
A FRAGMENT. 

X HE rough hail rattles through the treesf. 
The sullen lift low'rs gloomy grey. 

The trav'ler sees the swelling storm. 
And seeks the ale-house by the way. 

But, waes me ! for yon widow d wretch. 
Borne down wi' years, an' heavy care, 

Her sapless fingers scarce can nip 
The wither'd twigs to beet her fire. 

Thus youth and vigour fends itsel* ; 

Its help, reciprocal is suie, 
While dowless Eild in poortith cauld 

Is lanely left to Stan* the stoure. 



STANZAS, 

Written with a pencil on the grave -stone of a depai 
Ji'iend* 

oTOP passenger, — here muse a while; 

Think on his darksome lone abode, 
Who late, like thee, did jocund smile, 

Now lies beneath this cold green sod. 

Art thou to vicious ways inclin'd, 

Pursuing pleasure's flow'ry road, 
Know — fell remorse shall rack thy mind. 
When tott"ri;ng to t by told gietn sod. 



55 

ir thou a friend to virtue art, 

Oft pitying hurthenM misrys load ; 

Like thee, he had a feeling heart, 
Who lies beneath this cold green sod. 

With studious philosophic eye, 

He look'd thro' Nature up to God ; 

fiis future hope his greatest joy, 

Now lies beneath this cold green sod. 

Go, passenger — revere this truth ; 

A life well spent in doing good. 
Soothes joyless age^ and sprightly youth. 

When drooping o'er the cold green sod* 

PRAYER, UNDER AFFLICTION. 

Almighty pow v, who wings the storm, 

And calms the raging wind, 
Restore health to my wasted form. 
And tranquilHze my mind. 

For ah ! how poignant is the grief 

Which self misconduct brings. 
When racking pains find no relief, 

And injur'd consciertce stings. 

Let penitence forgiveness plead, 

Her lenient mercy's claims, 
Thy justice let be satisfied, 

And blotted out my crimes. 



56 

But sliould thy sacred law of Righl^ 

Seek life, a sacrifice, 
O ! tiaste that awful, solemn night. 

When death shall veil mine eyes. 

EPISTLE 

To J. K^*Gf on receiving a Moral Ejnsik J^'om him. 
May, 1802. 

X LEASE accept the thanks and praise. 

Due to your Poetic lays, 

Wisdom av should be rever'd, 

Sense to wit be ay prefer'd. 

— Just your thoughts in simple guise^ 

Pit to make frail mortals wise, 

Every period, es^xy line, 

With some moral truth doth shine. 

■ — Like the rocks, which storms divide, 

Thund'ring down the mountain's side.. 

So strides Time with rapid force, 

Kound his unobstructed course ; 

Like a flood upon its way, 

Sweeping downward to the sea : 

But what figure so sublime 

As describe the flight of Time ? 

Yesterday is past an* gane, 

Just as it had never been. 

— Life's a dream, and man's a ImMle, 

'Compass'd round with cave and trouh'e^ 



57 

Like a ship in tempest tost, 
Soon o'erwhelm'd, for ever lost, 
Like the short liv'd passion-flow'r, 
Blooming, dying, in an hour, 
Like the tuneful bird that sings, 
Flutt'nng high on sportive wings, 
Till the fowler's subtle art, 
Drives death's message to his heart. 
While, ^perhaps, death aims his bloWi 
For to lay the wretch as low. 
■ — Now since life is but a day, 
Make the most of it we may ; 
Not in drinking to excess, 
Drink the spirits will depress. 
Calm and tranquil let us be. 
Still resign'd to fate's decree ; 
Let not poortith sink us low. 
Let not wealth exalt our brow. 
Let's be grateful, virtuous, wise ; 
There's where all our greatness lies, 
Doing all the good we can, 
Is all that heav'n requires of man, 
— Wherefore should we grieve and sigh^ 
'Cause we know that we must die ? 
Death's a debt requir'd by nature, 
To be })aid by every creature, 
Rich and poor, and high and low, 
Fall by death's impartial blow- 
God perhaps in kindness will 
Snatch us from some coming ill ; 
Death may kindly waft us o'er 
To a milder, happier ehorg. 



5H 

' — But, Dear Jawee/ after a% 
What I've said's not worth a straw ; 
Whatris't worth to moralize 
What we never can practise ? 
As for me, wi' a' ray skill. 
Passion leads me as she will ; 
Best resolves, laid down to-day, 
Ere to-morrow, 're done away— 
—Then, let's ever-cheery live, 
Do 0U7' best, an' never grieve ; 
Still let Friendship's warmest tie 
A' deficiencies supply, 
And, while favour'd by the Nine^ 
1 your laurels will entwine. 

STANZAS, 

Written on Alex. Wilson's emigration to At^erica* 

vJ DEATH ! its no thy deeds I mourn, 
Tho' oft ray heart strings thou hast torn, 
'Tis worth an' merit left forlorn, 

Life's ill to dree. 
Gars now the pearlie, brakish burn 

Gush frae my e*e. 

Is there wha feels the melting glow 
O' Sympathy, for ithers woe, 
Come let our tears thegither flow, 

P join my mane I 
Vor Wilson f worthiest of us a', 

For ay is gane. 



59 

He bravely strave 'gainst fortune's stream, 
While hope held forth ae distant gleam, 
Till dash'd, and dash'd, time after time, 

On life's rough sea^ 
He weep'd his thankless native clime, 

And sail'd away. 

The Patnot bauld, the social hrither. 
In him war' sweetly join'd thegither ; 
He knaves reprov'd without a swither, 

In keenest satire % 
And taught what mankind owe each ither, 

As sons of nature. 
If thou hast heard his wee bit wren^ 
Wall forth Its sorrows thro' the glen, 
Tell, how his warm, descriptive pen 

Has thrill'd thy saul | 
His sensibility sae keen, 

He felt for all, 

Since now he's gane, an' Bums is dead, 
Ah ! wha will tune the Scottish reedf 
Her Thistle, dowie hings its head ; 

Her harps unstrung * 
While mountain, river, loch, an' mead, 

Remain unsung. 

Fareweel, thou much neglected bard ! 
These lines will speak my warm regard. 
While strangers on a foreign sward 

Thy worth hold dear^ 
Still some kind heart thy name shall guard 

Unsullied here. 



60 
ALLAN'S ALE. 

fVrttien in 1799. 

V^OME a* ye friendly, social pack, 
Wha meet wi' glee to club your plack, 
Attend while I rehearse a fact, 

That winna fail ; 
Nae drink can raise a canty crack, 

Like Allan's! Ale^ 

It waukens wit, an* mak's as merry, 
As England's far-fam'd Canterbury," 
Rich wines, frae Lisbon or Canary, 

Let gentles hail, 
But we can be as brisk an' airy, 

Wi' Allan's Ale. 

It bears the gree, Fs gie my alth, 
O' Widow Dn's an' R-lst-n*s baith, 
Wha may cast by their brewm' graith, 

Baith pat and pail, 
Since P-— sl-y wisely puts raair faith 

In Allan's Ale. 

Unlike the poor, sma penuT/'wheep, 
Whilk worthless petty change-fo'k keep, 
O'er whilk mirth never deign'd to peep, 

Sae sour an' stale; 
Tve seen roe joyous frisk an' leap, 

Wi* Allan's Ale. 

t All-n Br— n's. 



6i 

Whether a social friendly meetin', 

Or Politicians thrang debatin*, 

Or Benders, blest your wlzzens weetin*, 

Mark well my tale, 
Ye'U fin nae drink ha'f worth your gettin', 

Like Allan's Ale. 

When bleak December's blasts do blaw, 
And nature's face is co'er'd wi' snaw, 
Poor bodies scarce dou' wurk at a*, 

The cauld's sae snell, 
But meet an* drink their cares awa', 

Wi' Allan's Ale. 

Let auld Kilmarnock mak' a fraise, 
.What she has done in better days, 
Her tkri-penny ance her fame cou'd raise, 

O er muir an' dale, 
But P — sl-y now may claim the praise, 

Wi' Allan's Ale. 

Let selfish wights impose their notions, 
And d — n the man wont tak' their lessons, 
I scorn their threats, I scorn their cautions, 

Sae what they will, 
Let friendship crown our best devotions 

Wi' Allan's Ale. 

While sun, an moon, an' stars endure, 
An' aid wi* light *' a random splore," 
Still let each future social core. 

Its praises tell : 
Ador'd ay, and for evermore, 

Be Allan's Ale ! 

F 



62 



EPISTLE, 

T» J> SC*DL**K, on receiving from Mm q. sitiaU 
MS. volume of original Scottish Poems, 

APRIL, 1803* 

W HEN colleg*d Bards bestride Pegassus, 
An' try to gallop up Parnassus, 

By dint o' meikle lear, 
The lowe o' friendship fires my soul, 
To write you this poetic scrawl, — • 
Prosaic dull 1 fear 1 

But, weel I ken, your gen'rous heart 

Will overlook its failings, 
An' whare the Peet has come shorty 
Let friendship cure his ailings. 

'Tis kin', man, divine^ man. 
To hide the fau't we see, 
Or try to men't, as far's we ken!^ 
Wi' true sincerity. 

This last observe, brlngs't i' my head, 
To tell you here my social creeds 

Let's use a' mankind weel, 
An' ony sumph wha*d use us ill, 
Wi* dry contempt let's treat him still, 
He'll feel it warst himsel*. 

I never flatter — praise but rarcj 
I scorn a double part j 



63 

An* wTien I speak, I speak sincere, 
The dictates o' m)? heart ; 

1 truly hate the dirty gate, 
That mony a body tak's, 
Wha fraze ane, syne Maze ane 
As soon's they turn tiieir backs; 

In judging, let us be right hooly, 

I've heard some foiiks descant sae freely, 

On iiher people's matters, 
As if themsel's war' real perfection, 
When had they stood a fair inspection, 
Th' abus'd war' far their betters : 
But gossips ay man hae their crack. 

Though moralists should rail, 
Let's end the matter m this fact, 
That, goodness pays itsel\ 

The joys, man, that rise mail. 

To ane frae doing weeJ, 
Are sican joys that harden'd vice 
Can seldom ever feel. 

O Jamie, man ! I'm proud to see't, 
Our ain auld muse yet keeps her het, 

'I\lais)t healthy as before ; 
For sad predicting lisars foretauld, 
\Vhen E.obi:n's glowing heart turn'd cauld, 
Then a' our joys war' o'er, 

(ilk future Bard revere his name, 

Through thousand years to come ; 
And though we cannot reach his fame^_ 
Busk laurels round his tomb.) 



64 

Yet though he's dead, the ScoUish reed, 
This mony a day may ring, 

In L*v*st*n in A^d**s*n, 
In Sc*dl*ck, and in K**g. 

^' The Tap'Toom" — what a glorious treat ! 
** Complaint and wish" — how plaintive sweet ! 

** The Weavers" just " Lament" 
*' The Gloamin fragment'* — how divine ! 
There nature speaks in every line> 
The Bard's immortal in't ! 

i'on " Epigram on Jamie L — g^' 

Is pointed as the steel. 
An* *' Hoot! ye hen yourseVs" a sang 
Would pleas'd e'en Burns himsel' ! 

Let snarling, mean quar'ling, 

Be doubly d — d henceforth, 
And let us raise the voice of praise, 
To hearten modest worth. 

And you, my dear respected frien*, 
Your " Springs" a precious ever-green, 

Fresh beauties budding still, 
Your " Levern Banks" an' " Killoch Burn,** 
Ye sing them wi' sae sweet a turn, 
Ye gar the heart-strings thrill. 

*' October winds*' — e'en let them raye, 

With nature-blasting howl, 
If in return kind heaven give 
The sunshine of the soul : 

The feeling heart that bears a part, 

In others' joys and woes, 
May still depend to find a friend, 
Howe'er the tempest blows. 



65 

Yet, lang I've tlionght, and think it yet. 
True friends are rarely to be met, 

Wlia share in ithers' troubles ; 
Wha jointly joy, or drap the tear 
Keclprocal — and kindly bear 
Wi' ane anithers' foibUs, 

Ev'n such a friend I once could boast^ 

Ah ! now in death he's low — 
^ut fond anticipation hopes 
For such a friend in you. 

Dear Jatiile forgi'e me 

That last presumptive line, 
See, here's my hand at your command', 
Ye hae my heart langsyne. 

PROLOGUE 

To the Gentle Shepherd, spoken in a Provincial 
Theatre, 

J. E patronizers of our little party, 
My heart's e'en light to see you a' sae hearty; 
I'm fain, indeed, an' trouth I've meikie cause, 
Since your blythe faces ha'f insure applause. 
We come this night wi' nae new-fangi'd story, 
0' knave's deceit, or fop's vain blust'ring glory, 
Nor harlequins wild pranks, wi' skin like leopard, 
"\Ve're come to gie your aia auld Gentle Shepherd : 
Whilk ay wlJ! charm, an' will be red an' acket, 
Till tiiKe hlmser turn auld, an' kick the bucket. 



66 

I mind, langsyne, when I was just a callan ; 
That a* the kintra rang in praise o' Allan ; 
Ilk rising generation toots his fame, 
And hun'er years to come, 'twill be the same ; 
For wha has read, tho* e'er sae lang sinsyne, 
But keeps the living picture in his min' ; 
Approves bauld Patie's clever, manly turn, 
An* maist thinks Roger cheap o' Jenny's scorn ; 
His dowless gait, the cause o' a' his care, 
For " Nane except the brave deserve the fair." 
Hence sweet young Peggy lo'ed her manly Pate, 
An* Jenny geck't at Roger, dowf an* blate. 

Our gvide Sir William stands a lesson leel, 
To lairds, wha'd hae their vassals lo'e them weel ; 
To prince, an' peer, this maxim it imparts, 
Their greatest treasures are the people's hearts, 

Frae Glaud an* Symon would we draw a moral, 
The virtuous youth-thne maks the canty carl. 
The twa auid birkies caper blythe an' bauld, 
Nor shaw the least regret that they're turn'd auld. 

Poor Bauldy 1 O it's like to split my jaws ! 
I think I see him under Madge^s claws ; 
Sae may misfortune tear him spawl and plack, 
Wha'd wrang a bonny lass, an' syne draw back. 

Butj Sirs, to ^ou I maist forgot my mission^ 
I'm sent to beg a V'uce to criticism ; 
We don't pretend k) speak by square and rule, 
Like you wise chaps bred up in Thespian-school ; 



67 

An' to your wishes should we not succeed, 
Pray be sae kind as tak* the will for deed ; 

(An* as our immortal Robert Burns says,) 

** Aibllns tho' we wlnna' stan' the test, 

" Wink hard an* say, The fo'ks hae done their best.' 
An' keep this gen'rous maxim still in min*, 

*' To err is human, to forgive divine !'* 



EPISTLE, 
To W, W'L'E, Jan. 1806, 

UEAR kindred SAUL, thanks to the cause 

First made us ken each ither. 
Ca't fate, or chance, I carena, whilk, 

To me it brought a brither. 

Thy furthy, kindly, takin' gait ; — 
Sure every gude chiel' likes thee, 

An* bad-luck wring his thrawart heart, 
Wha* snarling e'er wou'd vex thee. 

Tho' mole-e'et fortune's partial hand, 
O' clink may keep thee bare o't ; 

Of what thou hast, pale misery 
Receives, unask'd, a share o't. 

Thou gi'est vvithout ae hank'rin' thought, 

Or cauld, self-stinted wish ; 
E'en winter finger'd avarice, 

Approves thee with a blush. 



68 

If grief e'er tnake thee her pack horsey 

Her leaden- load to cariy't, 
Shove ha'f the burthen on my hack, 

I'll do my best to bear it. 

Gude kens we a' hae fau'ts enew, 

'Tis friendship's task to cure 'em, 
But still she spurns the critic-view, 

An' bids us to look o'er 'em. 

When death performs his beadle part^ 

An' summons thee to heaven, 
By virtue of thy M'arra kind heart, 

Thy Jail ts will be forgiven. 

And should'st thou live to see thy friend^ 

Borne lifeless on the bier, 
I ask off thee, for Epitajjh, 

One kind elegiac tear. 

SONNET 
TO SINCEFiITY. 

J. URE emanation of the Jmnest soui^ 

Dear to my heart, manly sincerity- 
Dissimulation shrinks, a coward foul, 

Before thy noble art-detesting eye. 

Thou scorn 'st the wretch who acts a double part^ 
Obsequious, servile, flatt'ring to betray, 

With smiling face that veils a ranc'rous heart, 
JLike sunny morning of tempestuous day. 



69 

Thou spurn*st tlie sophist, with his guilty lore, 

Whom int'rest prompts to weave the specious snare; 

In independence rich, thou own'st a store 

Of conscious worth, which changelings never share. 

Then come, b right virtue, with thy dauniless 6row, 
And crush deceit) vile monster, reptile-low. 



EPISTLE. 

To J, B—RR} wherever he may he found, 

CjtUDE Pibrocharian^ jorum-jirgerf 

Say, hae ye turn'd an Antib r ? 

Or lang-fac'd Presbyt n El — r, 

Deep read in wiles o' gath'rin' sillar ? 
Or cauld splenetic solitair, 
Resolv'd to herd wi' man nae mair ? 

As to the second, I've nae fear for't ; 
For sillar, faith ! ye ne'er did care for't, 
Unless to help a needfu' body, 
An' get an antnn glass o' toddy. 
But what the black mischief's come owr you; 
These three months I've been spierin' for you, 
Till e'en the muse, wi' downright grievin', 
Has worn her chafts as thin's a shavin': 
Say, hae ye ta'en a tramp to Lon'on, 
In Co wi' worthy auld B-ch-n-n,* 

• A much respected Naturalist in the West Country. 



70 

Wba mony a mile wiiJ streek his shanlcs. 
To hae a crack wi' Josie Banksy 
Concerning " shells, an' birds, an' metals^ 
Moths, spiders, butterflies, an' beetles.'* 
For you, I think ye'll cut a figure, 
Wi' king o Pipersy Male. McGregor, 
An' wi' your clarion, flute, an' fiddle, 
Will gar their southron heart-strings diddle. 

Or are ye through the kintra-whiskin', 
Accoutr't wi' the sock an' buskin', 
Thinkin' to climb to wealth an' fame, 
By adding Roscius to your name ? 
Frae thoughts o' that, pray keep abeigh ! 
Ye're far owr aidd, an' far ovvr hei^h ; 
Since in thir novel-huntin' daj^s, 
There's nane but bahiis can act our plays. 
At twal-year-auld, if ye had tried it, 
I doubtna' but ye might succeedet ; 
I5ut full-grow n boordiy chiels like you, 
Quite monst'rous man, 'twill never do I 

Or are ye gane, as there are few sic'. 
For teachin' o' a band o' music ? 
O hear auld Scotland's fervent prayr's ! 
And teach her genuine native airs! 
Whilk simply play'd, devoid o' art. 
Thrill through the senses to the heart. 

Play, when ye'd rouse the Patriot's Sau!^ 
True Valour's tune, " The garb of' Gaul,' 
An* when laid low in gloiy's bed, 
Let *^ Rodin Castle ^ soothe his shade. 



71 

*' The honny hush ahoon Traquair^* 
It's every accent breathes despair ; 
An' " Ettrick Banks" celestial strain ! 
Mak's simmer's gloamin mair serene ; 
An' O how sweet the plaintive muse, 
Amang " The broom o" Cowdenhnows.'* 

To hear the love-lorn swain complain, 
lione, on " The braes o Balandine ;" 
It e'en might melt the dortiest she, 
That ever sklinted scorn fu' e'e* 

When Beauty tries her vocal powers 
Amang the green wood's echoing bow'rs^ 
*' The bonny b'lrhs of hivermay" 
Might mend a seraph's sweetest lay. 

Then should grim care invest your castle. 
Just knock him down wi' " Willie JVastlej* 
An' rant blythe " Lumps o puddin' owr him^ 
An' for his dirge sing " Tullochgorumy 

When Orpheus charra'd his wife frae h-ll, 
'Twas nae Scotch tune he play'd sae v.eel ; 
Else had the worthy auld wire-scraper 
Been keepet for his D-lship's piper. 

Or if ye're turn'd a feather'd fop, 
Light dancing upon fashion's top, 
Wi' lofty brow an' selfish e'e, 
. Despising low-clad dogs like me ; 
Uncaring your contempt or favour, 
Sweet butterfly, adieu for ever ! 
But, hold — I'm wrong to doubt your sense | 
For pride proceeds from ignorance. 



If peace of min^ lay in fine clotlies, 
I'd be the first of fluttering Beaux^ 
An' strut as proud as ony peacock, 
That «ver craw'd on tap o hay-cock ; 
An' ere I'd know one vexing thought, 
Get dollar buttons on my coat, 
"Wi^ a' the lave o' fulsome trash on, 
That constitutes a mart o' fashion. 
O, grant me this, kind Providence; 
A moderate decent competence ; 
Thou'it see me smile in independence, 
Above weak-saul'd pride-born ascendence^ 

But whether ye're gane to teach the WhistlCf 

Midst noise an' rough reg'mental bustle ; 

Or gane ia strut upon the siage^ 

Smit wi' the Mania o' the age ; 

Or Scotchman-like, hae tramp't abreed. 

To yon big town far south the Tweed ; 

Or dourin in the hermit's celly 

Unblessing an' unblest yoursel*— 

In gude's name write ! — tak up your pen, 

A' how ye're doiu* let me ken. 

Sae hoping, quickly your epistle, 

Adieu ! thou genuine son of song an^ WHISTLE. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

We had a concert here short syne, 
L-— d man ! the Music was divme, 
Baith plaintive sang, an' merry GleCj 
In a' the soul of Harmonv, 



73 

When Sra— *.li and St 1 leave this earth, 

The gods, in token c' their worth, 
Will welcome them at heaven's portals. 
The brightest, truest, best o' mortals ; 
Apollo proud, as well he may^ 
Will walk on tip-toe a' that day ; 
While a' the Muses kindred claim, 
Rememb'ring what tlieyve done for them. 

SECOND EPISTLE, 
To J, SC*DL**K, then at Perth> JuiJE, 1804'. 

X^ET those who never felt its flame. 
Say friendship is an empty name ; 

Such selfish, cauld Philosophy, 

For ever I disclaim. 

It soothes the soul with grief opprest, 
Half-eures the care-distemper d breast, 

And in the jocund, happy hour, 

Gives joy a higher zest. 

All nature sadden'd at our parting honr> 

Winds plaintive howl'd, clouds weeping dropta showT^ 

Our fields loofcM dead — as If they'd said, 

" We ne*er shall see him more." 

Tho' fate an' fortune threw their darts, 
Envying their high deserts^ 

They well might tear you from our arras. 

But never from our hearts. 



74 

When spring buds forth in vernal show rs. 
When summer comes array'd in flow'rs, 

Or autumn kind, for Ceres* born, 

Her grateful bounty pours ; 

Or bearded Winter curls his brow — 

I'll often fondly think on you, 

And on our happy days and nights, 
With pleasing back cast view. 

If e'er in musing mood ye stray, 
Along the banks of classic Tay, 

Think on our walks by Stanely TowV, 

And Sage Gleniffer brae. 

Think on our langsyne happy hours, 
Spent where the burn wild rapid pours, 

And o*er the horrid dizzy steep. 

Dashes her mountain-stores. 

Think on our walks by sweet Greenlaw, 
By v^oody hill, and birken shaw. 

Where nature strews her choicest sweets, 

To mck' the landscape braw. 

And think on rural Ferguslie, 

Its plantins green, and fiow'ry lee ; 

Such fairy scenes, tho' distant far, 

May please the mental e'e. 

Yon mentor, Geordie Zimmerman, 
Agrees exactly witli our plan, 



75 

That partial hours of Solitude 
Exalts the soul of man. 

So, oft retir'd from strife and din, 
Let 's shun the jarring ways of men, 

And seek serenity and peace 

By stream and woody glen. 

But ere a few short summers gae, 
Your friend will mix his kindred clay. 

For fell disease tugs at my breast, 

To hurry me away. 

Yet while life's bellows bears to blaw, 
Till life's last laag*tetch'd breath I draw, 

I'll often think on you, 

And mind your kindness a'. 

I»Jow fare-ye-weel ! still may ye find, 
AJriend congenial to your mind. 

To share your joys, and half your woes, 

Warm, sympathizing, bind. 



LINES, 

Written on reading Thomas Campbell's Pleasures 
of Hope, 

JlIOW seldom 'tis the Poet's happy lot, 
T' inspire his readers with the fire he wrote ; 



76 

To strike tliose chords that wake the latent thrll!, 
And wind the willing passions to his will — 
Yes, Campbell, sure that happy lot is thine, 
"With fit expression rich from nature's mine, 
X.ike old Timotheus, skilful plac'd on high, 
To rouse revenge, or sooth to sympathy. 
Blest Bai-'i, who chose no paltry, local theme, 
K J OPE 'hrough wide creation is the same; 
Yes, Allied sons shall one day burst their chaini 
Will read tiiy lines, and bless thee for thy pains ;| 
Tixme yet shall waft thy name to India's shore, •' 
"W here next to Brahma thee they will adore ; 
And Hist'ry's page, exulting in thy praise, 
Will proudly hand thee down to future days — 
Detraction foil'd, leluctant quits her grip, 
And carping Knvy silent bites her lip. ^ 

THE CONTRAST. 

Inscribed io Mr, J. S -h. Avg. 1 803 i 

V'V HEN love proves false, and friends betray us, 
Ali nature seems a dismal chaos 

Ol wretchedness and woe; \^ 

We stamp naankuid a base ingrate, '* 

Haif-loatlilng life we challenge fate ,' ! 

To strike the final blow. , 

Then settl'd grief, with w!ld despair , 

Starts from our blood shot eyes, 



% Tho' oft we try to hide our care, 
H And check our bursting sighs, 

- Still vexed, sae wretched, 

We seek some lanely wood. 
There sighing, and crying, 
We pour the briny flood, 

Mark the contrast — what joys we find. 
With friends sincere and beauty kind. 

Congenial to our wishes ; 
Then jfe appears a summer's day, 
Adowtt time's crystal stream we play, 
As iiportive's little fishes. 

We see nought thea but general good^ 

; Which warm pervades all nature; 
Our hearts expand with gratitude . 

Unto the great Creator, 
i: Then let's revere the virtuous fair, 

• The friend whose truth is tried, 

For without these, go where we please 
We'll always find a void. 



IIPISTLE, 

■ To W.TH-M—N, June, 1805, 

JLlEAR Will, my much repected frien', 
I send you this to let you ken. 
That, tho' at distance fate hath set you, 
Your frien's in P — sl-y dont forget you « 



78 

But often tlilnk on you, far lone, 
Amang the braes of Overton. 

Our social club continues yet, 
Perpetual source of mirth an* wit. 
Our rigid rules admit but few, 
Yet, still we'll keep a chair for you. 

A country life I've oft envied, 
Where love, an' truth, an* peace preside; 
Without temptations to allure, 
Your days glide on unstain'd an' pure ; 
Nae midnight revels waste your health. 
Nor greedy landlord drains your wealth, 
Ye're never fash't wi' w^hisky fever, 
Nor dizzy pow, nor dulness ever. 
But breathe the halsome calor air, 
Kemote from aught that genders care. 

I needna' tell how much I lang 
To hear your rural Scottish sang ; 
To hear you sing your heath-clad braeSj 
Your jocund nights, an' happy days ; 
An' lilt wi' glee the blythsome morn. 
When dew-draps pearl every thorn ; 
When larks pour forth the early sang, 
An' iintwhites chant the whins amang^ 
An' pyats hap frae tree to tree, 
Teachin' their young anes how to flee^ 
While frae the mavis to the wren, 
A* warble sweet in bush or glen. — 

In town we scarce can fin' occasion^ 
To note the beauties o' creation, 



79 

But study mankind's difF'rent dealings, 

Their virtues, vices, merits, failings. 

Unpleaslng task, compar'd wi* yours', 

Ye range the hills 'raang mountain-flovv'rs, 

An' view, afar, the smokv town. 

More blest than all it's riches were your own. 

A lang Epistle I might scribble, 
But aiblins ye will grudge the trouble, 
Of readin* sic low, hamert rhyme, 
An' sae it's best to quat in time, 
Sae, I, with soul sincere an' ?ervent, 
Am still your trustful friend an' servant. 

EPISTLE, 
To J, B*CH*N*N, Aug. 1806. 

i\± Y gude auld friend on Locher-banks, 
Your kindness claims my warmest thanks. 
Yet, thanks is but a draff-cheap phrase, 
O' little value now a-days : 
Indeed, it's hardly worth the heeding, 
Unless to shaw a body's breeding. 
Yet mony a poor, doil't servile body, 
Will scrimp his stomach o* its crowdy, 
An' pride to rin a great man's errans, 
An' feed on smiles an' sour cheese- parin's, 
An' think himsel' nae sma' sheep-shank, 
Rich, laden wi'- his Lordship's thank. 



80 

The sodger too, for a' his troubles, 
His hungry-wames, an' bludy hubbies. 
His agues, rheumatisms, cramps, 
Receiv'd in plashy winter-camps, 

O blest reward ! at last he gains 
His sov'reign's thanks, for a' his pains. 
'Twas wisely said by " Queer Sir John,** 
That " Honour wudna buy a scone.'* 
Sae yin, of thanks, may get a million, 
Yet live as poor's a porter's scidlion : 
Indeed they're just (but, beg your pardon,) 
Priest-blessing hke, no* worth a fardin'.* 

Thus, tho' 'mang first o' friends I rank you, 
*Twere but sma' compliment to thank you ; 
Yet, lest you think me here ungratefu', 
Of hatefu' names, a name most hatefu', 
The neist time that ye come to town. 
By a' the pow'rs beneath the moon ! 
I'll treat you wi' a Highland gill, 
Tho' it should be my hindmaist fill. 

Tho' in the bustling town, the Muse 

Has gather'd little feck o* Newsy 

— 'Tis said, the court of Antiquarians, 

Has split on some great point o' variance, 

For yin has got, in gouden box, 

The spendacles of auld John Knox ; 

* Alluding to the anecdote of the sailor, who would not 
accept of the priest's blessing, alleging that if it waB worth, 
one forthing he would not ^Jart with it. 



81 

A second proudly thanks his fate wi' 
The hindmaistPen that Nelson wrate wl'| 
A third yin owns an antique rare, 
A Saep-brush made o' Mermaid s hair ! 
But niggard wights they a' refuse 'em, 
These precious relics to the Museum, 
Whilk selfish, mean, unlegal deeds, 
Hae set them a' at loggerheads. 

'Tis also said, our noble Prince, 
Has play'd the wee saul't loon for ance, 
Has crin his bonny wife the fling. 
Yet gars her wear Hans Carvel's ring ; 
But a' sic ciish clash cracks I'll lea 
To yon sculdudry Committee. 

Sure taste refin'd and public spirit, 
Stand next to genius in merit ; 
I'm proud to see your warm regard. 
For Caledonia's dearest Bard : 
Of him ye've got sae gude a Painting, ■!■ 
That nocht but real hte is wanting. 
I think, yon rising genius, T^annock, , 

May gain a niche m fame's high wmnock. 
There with auld Rubens, plac'd subUme, ^' 

Look down upon the wreck of time. 

I ne'er, as yet hae found a Patron, 
For scorn be till't I hate a' flatt'ring*, 
Besides, I never had an itchin* 
To slake about a great man's kitchin', 

f Portrait of R Burns, painted by Mr. J, Tannock, for 
the KUbarchaa Burns' Anniversary Socety, 



8-2 

An* like a spaniel lick his dishes, 
An' come, an' gang just to his wishes—^ 
Yet studious to give worth its due, 
I pride to praise the like of you, 
Gude chiels, replete wi' sterling sense, 
Wha wi' their worth mak' nae pretence. 
Ay — there's my worthy friend, M^M — ^ 
I'll lo'e him till my latest breath, 
An' like a traitor-wretch be hang'd. 
Before I'd hear that fallow wrang'd ; 
His every action shows his mind , 
Humanely noble, bright, an' kind, 
An' here's the worth o't, doubly rootet, 
He never speaks ae word about it ! 
—My compliments an' warrn gude-willj 
To Misters S-mp--, B-rr, an' L—e ; 
Wad ray'ning time but spare my pageSj 
They'd tell the warl in after-ages. 
That it, to me, was wealth an' fame, 
To be esteem'd by chields like them: 

TIME, thou all-devouring Bear! 
Hear — " List, O Hst" my ardent pray'r! 

1 crave thee here, on bended knee, 
To let my dear lov'd Pages be ! 

O tak' thy sharp-nail'd, nibbling Elfs, 
To musty scrolls on college shelfs ! 
There, with dry Treatises on Law, 
Feast, cram, and gorge thy greedy maw ; 
But grant, amidst thy thin-sown mercies, 
To spare, O spare my darling Verses ! 

Could I but up thro* Hist'ry wimple^ 
^ Wi Robertson, or sage Dalrymplej 



63 

Or had I ha'f the pith an* lear 

Of a Mackenzie, or a Blair ! 

I aiblins then mi^ht tell some story, 

Wad shaw the muse in bleezin' glory ; 

But scrimp't o' time,* and lear scholastic, 

My Unes limp on in Hudibrastic, 

Till hope, grown sick, ftings down her claim, 

An' draps her dreams o' future fame. 

— Yes, O waesuck ! should I be vaunty ? 

My Muse is just a Rosinante, 

She stammers forth, wi' hilchin' canter. 

Sagely intent on strange adventure, 

Yet, sae uncouth in garb" an' feature, 

She seems the fool of Literature. 

But lest the Critic's birsle besom, 

Soop affthis cant of Egotism, 

I'll sidelins hint — na, bauldly tell, 

I whyles think something o' mysel' : 

Else, wha the deil ! wad fash to scribble, 

Expectin' scorn for a' his trouble ? 

Yet, lest dear *^// should be mista'en, 

1*11 fling the bridle o'er the mane, 

For after a', I fear this jargon. 

Is but a Willie G ■ — ■ bargain. 

* *• Time"-— Scottish idiom, for leUuire* 



84. 

LINES, 
To W, M^L*R^N, 

Tg attend a meeting of the BUHNS* ANNIVERSARY 

SOCIETY. 

IvING G- — die Issues out his summons, 
To ca' his bairns the Lairds ah' Commons^ 
To creesh the nation's mooly heels, 
An' butter commerce' rusty wheels. 
An' see what new, what untried taX, 
Will lie the easiest on our backs. 

» 
The Priest convenes his scandal-court, 
To ken what houghmigandie sport, 
Has been gaun on within the Parish, 
Since last they met, their funds to cherlshc 
But I, the servant of Apollo, 
Whase mandates I am proud to follow. 
He bids me warn you as the friend 
Of Bunis'sfame, that ye'U attend, 
Keist Friday's e'en, in Lucky Wright's^ 
To spend the best, the wale o' nights; 
Sae under pain o' ha'f-o'-mark, 
Ye'li come, as sign'd by me the clerk. 



85 



ODE, 

Wiitienjbr, S^ Performed at the CeleSroiicn of'RoB'EtLT 
BuRUS* Birth-dat/^ Paisley, 29th Jan, 1807. 

RECITATIVE. 

W HILE Gallia's chief, with cruel conquests vain, 
Bids clanging trumpets rend the skies, 
The widow's, orphan's, and the father's sighs, 
Breathe, hissing through the guilty strain ; 
Mild pity nears the harrowing tones, 
Mixt with shrieks and dying groans : - 
"While warm humanity, afar, 
Weeps o'er the rav ages of war : 
And shudd*ring hears ambition's servile train, 
Rejoicing o'er their thousands slain. 
But when the song to worth is given, 
The grateful anthem wings its way to heaven ; 
Rings through the mansions of the bright abodes^ 
And melts to extasy the list'ning gods ; 

Apollo, on fire, 

Strikes with rapture the lyre, 
And the Muses the summons obey, 

Joy wings the glad soud, 

To t!ie worlds around. 
Till all nature re-echoes the lay,— 
Then, raise the song ye vocal few, 
Give the praise to merit due. 
H 



SG 



S^ to Music by Mr. R. A, Smith* 

llio* daik scowling winter, in dismal array, 

Remarshals his storms on the bleak hoary hl!l, 
"With joy we assemble to hai! the great day 

That gave biMh to the Bard who ennobles our isle«: 
Then loud to his merits^ the song let us raise, 
Let each true Caledonian exult in his praise ; 
For the glory of genius, its dearest reward, 
Is the laurel entwin'd by his country's regard. 

Let the Muse bring fresh honours his name to adorn^ 

Let the voice of glad melody pride in the theme. 
For the genius of Scotia, in ages unborn, 

Will light up her torch at the blaze of his fame : 
When the dark mist of ages lies turbid between, 
Still his star of renown through the gloom shall be seen. 
And his rich blooming laurels, so dear to the Bard. 
Will be chcrish'd for ay by his country's regard. 



RECITATIVE. 

Yes, Burns, " thou dear departed shade '." 
"When rolling centuries have fled, 
Thy name shall still survive the wreck oi time, 
Shall rouse the genius of thy native clime ; 
Bards yet unborn, and patriots shall come, 
And catch fresh ardour at thy hailow'd tomb — 

There's not a cairn-built cottage on our hills, 
Nor rural harnlet on our fertile plains, 
But echoes to the magic of his .strains, 

While every heart with highest transport thrills 



87 

Our country's melodies shall perish never. 
For Burns, thy songs shall live for ever. 

Then, once again, ye vocal few, 

Give the song to merit due. 

SONG. 

Written to March's notional Air., f* Britons whoj&s 

freedom bled." 

HARMONIZED AS A GLEE, BY MR. SMITH. 

Hail, ye glorious sons of song, 
"Who wrote to humanize the soul t 
To you our highest strains belong. 
Your names shall crown our friendly bowl ; 
But chiefly, Burns, above the rest^K 

We dedicate this night to thee ; 
Xngrav'd in every Scotchman's breasj^ 
Thy name, thy worth shall ever bfe 

Fathers of cur ccuntry*s weal. 
Sternly virtuous, bold and free ! 
Ye taught our sons to fight, yet feel 
The dictates of hrimanity : 

But chiefly Burns, above the rest. 
We dedicate this night to thee ; 
Engrav'c! in every Scotchman's breast;, 
Thj name, thy worth shall ever b«. 

Haughty Gallia threats our coast, 
"We hear thtir vaunts with disregard. 
Secure in valour, still we boast, 
*' The Patriot and the Patriot Bard /'* 
But chiefly Burns, above the rest. 
We dedicate this night to thea ; 
Engrav'd in every Scotchman's breast. 
Thy name, thy worth shall ever be. 



SB ' 

Yes, Caledonians ! to your countrv true, 
Which Danes, nor Romans never could subdue ; 
Firnrjly resolv'd our native rights to guard, 
Let's tost, *' The Patriot and the Patriot Bard^ 



PARODY, 

Written 07i seeing the late Mr. ThomAS WilLOUGH- 

BY, Tragedian^ rather below himself, 

JL EACEFUL slumb'rlng in the ale-house. 

See the god-like Roilo lie, 
Drink out-wits the best of fellows : 

Here lies poor Tom Willoughby. 

Where is stern king Richard's fury ! 

Where is Osmond's blood-flush eye 1 
See these mighty men before ye. 

Sunk to poor Tom Willoughby. 

Pity 'tis that men of merit, 

Thus such sterling worth destroy; 
O ye gods 1 did I inherit, 

Half the pow'rs of Willoughbyc 



The Foor Bowlman's Remoyistrance^ 

X H ROUGH winter's cold, and summer's heatj 
I earn my scanty fare, 



89 

From morn till night, along the street, 

I cry my earthen ware : 
Then, O let pity sway your souls ! 

And mock not that decrepitude. 

Which draws me from my solitude 
To cry my plates and bpwls. 

From thoughtless youth, I often brook 

The trick and taunt of scorn, 
And though indiflPVence marks my lookj 

My heart with grief is torn : 
Then, O let pity sway your souls ! 

Nor sneer contempt in passing by ; 

Nor mock, derisive, while I cry, 
Come buy my plates and bowls. 

The Potter mould* the passive clay, 

To all the forms you see ; 
And that same power that formed you, 

Hath likewise fashion'd me ; 
Then, O let pity sway you souls ! — 

Though needy, poor as poor can be, 

I stoop not to your charity, 
But cry my plates and bowls.-j- 

f When decrepitude incapacitates a brother of humanity 
from gaining a subsistence by any of tlie less dishonourable 
callings, and when he possesses that independency of soul 
which disdains living on charity, it is certainly refinement in 
barbarity to hurt the feelings of such a one. — The above 
was written on seeing the boys plaguing little Johnnie the 
bowlman, while some who lliought themselves imn were 
reckoning it excellent spoit. 



90 
WILL M'N— L'S ELEGY. 

** He was a man without a clag, 
His heart was frank without a flaw.'* 

King James I. 

Responsive to the roaring floods, 

Ye winds howl plaintive thro' the woods. 
Thou gloomy sky pour down hale clouds, 

His death to wail ; 
For bright as heaven's brightest studs, 

ishin'd Will M'N— 1, 

He every selfish thought did scorn, 
His warm heart in his looks did burn, 
Ilk body own'd his kindly turn, 

An' gate sae leel ; 
A kinder saul was never born, 

Than Will M'N— -1. 

He ne'er kept up a hidlins plack 
To spen' ahint a comrade's back, 
But on the table gar'd it whack, 

Wi' free guid will 
Free as the win' on wintier-stack, 

Was Will M'N— L 

He ne'er could bide a narrow saul, 
To a' the social virtues caul' ; 
He wish'd ilk sic a fiery scaul*. 

His shins to peel ; 
Nae sic durst herd in fiel' or faul' 

Wi' Will M'N—!. 



91 

He ay abhor'd the spaniel art ; 

Ay when he spak' 'twas fra the heart, 

An honest, open, manly part. 

He ay uphei', 
•* Guile soud be devel'd i' the dirt," 

Said Will M'N— L 

He ne'er had greed to gather gear, 
Yet rigid kept his credit clear ; 
He ever vias to mis'ry dear, 

Her lose she'll feel ; 
She ay got saxpence, or a tear 

Frae Will M'N— U 

In Scotch antiquities he prldet ; 

Auld Hardyknute, he kent wha made It ; 

The Bag-pipe too, he sometimes sey*d it, 

Pibroch an' Reel ; 
Our ain auld Language few could read it, 

Like Will M'N— L 

In wllyart glens he Hk'd to stray. 
By fuggle rocks, or castle grey ; 
Yet ghaist-rid rustics ne'er did say 

" Uncanny chiel'." 
They fill'd their horns wi' usquebae 

To Will M'N~I. 

He sail't and trampet mony a mile, 

To visit auld I-columb kill ; 

He clamb.the heights o' Jura's isle, 

Wi' weary speel, 



92 

But slccan sights ay pay't the toil, 

Wi* Will M^N—I. 



He rang't thro' Morven's hills and glens. 
Saw some o' Ossian'a moss grown stanes, 
Whare rest the low-laid heroes banes, 

Deep in the hill ; 
He cruin't a cronadch to their manes, 

Kind WiUM«N— li; 

He was deep read in nature's bewk, 
Explor'd ilk dark misterious creuk, 
Kenc a' her laws wi' antrin leuk, 

An' that right weel. 
But (fate o Genius) death soon teuk 

AffWiUM*N— I. 



O' ilka rack he kent the ore, 
He kent the virtues o' ilk flow'r. 
Ilk banefu' plant he kent it's pow'r, 

An* warn't frae ill. 
A' nature's warks few could explore, 

Like Will M'N— I. 



He kent a* creatures clute an' tail, 
Down fi*ae the lion to the snail, 
Up frae the menon to the whale, 

An' kraken eel, 
Scarce vin could tell their gaits sae weel, 

As Will M*N— K 



93 

Kor past lie ocht thing slightly by, 
But with keen scrutiiiizing eye, 
He to its inmaist bore would pry, 

Wi' wond'rous skill j 
An' teaching ithers ay gae joy 

To Will M*N— I. 

He kent auM Archimedes' gait, 
"What way he brunt tiie Roman fleet, 
^ *Twas by the rays' reflected heat, 

Frae speculum steel ; 
** For bare refraction ne'er could do't/' 

Said Will M'N—1. 

Yet fame his praise did never rair it, 
For poortith's weeds obscur'd his merit, 
Forby, he had a bashfu' spirit, 

That sham't to tell 
His worth or wants, let envy spare it 

To Will M'N— 1. 

Barra,-\- thou wast sair to blame I 

1 here record it to thy shame, 
Thou kit the brightest o' thy name 

Unheeded steal. 
Thro' murky life, to his lang hame, 

Poor Will M<N— I! 

He ne'er did wrang to livin' ereatur. 
For ill Will hadna't in his nature, 

* The Laird of Barra, Chief of thfe M'NeU Clan« 



9* 

A warm kind heart his leading feature, 

His main-spring wheel^ 

Ilk yii'tue grew to noble stature, 

In Will M'N— I. 

There's na ae yin that ever kent him, 
But wi* their tears will lang lainent him, 
He hasna' left his match ahint him, 

At hame or fieF, 
His worth lang on our minds will prent him 

Kind Will M*N-.I, 

But close my sang, my hemart lays, 
Are far unfit to speak his praise ; 
Our happy nights, our happy da)«!, 

Fareweel, Fareweel, 
Now dowie mute, tears speak our waes 

For Will M'N-^I. 



THE CONTRARY. 

Get up, my muse, an* sound thy ch^uterj 
Nor ianger wi' our feelings saunter, 
Ilk true blue Scot get up an' canter, 

He's hale an' wee! 
An' lang may fate keep aff mishantejr, 

Frae Will M*N-^Io 



95 

THE 

COCK.PIT, 

title Barbarian«]ike amusement of seeing two animals, in- 
stinctively destroy each other, certainly affords sufficient 
scope for the pen of the Satirist ; the author thought he 
could not do it more effectually than by giving a picture 
of the cocK-?iT, and describing a few of the chavactersjj 
who, generally, may be seen at such gloiious contests. 

X HE great, the iraportant hour is come'V 
O HOPE ! thou wily nurse ! 
I see bad-luck behind thy back, 
Dark, brooding; deep remorse. 

No fancied muse will I invoke. 

To grace ray humble strain, 
But sing my song in homely phrase, 

Inspired by what Tve seen. 

Here comes a feeder with his charge, 

'Mong friends 'tis wliisper'd straight, 
How long he swung him on a string, 

To bring him to hii^ weight.* 

* When a feeder has unluckily fed his bird above the 
stipulated weight, recourse is had to the ludicrous expedient 
of making poor chanticleer cornrncnce rope-damer ; being 
tied on the rojje, he flutters, and ihrougli fear evacuates part 
•of his preponderaricy. When this happens to be the case, 
the knowing ones who are up to it, will not hat ao freely 
on his prowess, as the operation is supposed to have weaken'i 
him. 



96 

The carpets laid — -pii'moncy drawn- 
All's high with expectation ; 

With birds bereft of nature's garb, 
The handlers tak' their station. 

What roaring, betting, bawling, swearing, 

Now assail the ear ! 
•* Three pound ! — four pound on Ph-11-p's Cock 1** 

" Done ! — Done, by G — d, Sir — here 1*' 

Now cast a serious eye around, 

Behold the motley group, 
All gamblers, swindlers, ragamuffins, 

Vot'ries of the stoup. 

But why of zV thus lightly speak, 

The poor raan*s a* best frien' : 
When fortune's sky lowrs dark an' grim, 

It clears the drumly scene. 

Here sits a wretch with meagre face. 

And sullen drousy eye ; 
Kor speaks he much — last night at cards 

A gamester drain *d him dry. 

Here bawls another veni'rous soul, 

Who risks hise very farthing ; 
What d-l's the matter though nt home, 
*: His wife an* bratts are starving. 

See here's a fitlier 'gainst a son, 
A brither 'gainst a brither, 



97 

Wha, e'en m mair than common splte^ 
Bark hard at ane anither. 

But see yon fellow all in black. 

His looks speak inward joy ; 
Mad -happy since his father's death, 

Sporting his legacy.—* 

And mark that aged Dehaucheey 

With red bepimpfd face- 
He fain would bet a crown or two, 

But purse is not in case* 

But hark! — what cry, — " Hes run!--^hes runP*- 

And loud huzzas take place- 
Now mark, what deep dejection sits. 

On every loser's face. 

Observe the owjter — frantic man, 

With imprecations dread, 
He grasps his vanquish'd Idol-god^ 

And twirls off his head. 

But, bliss attend their feeling souls, 

Wha nae sic deeds delight in ! 
Brutes are but brutes, let men be meitp^ 

Nor pleasure in cock-fighting, 
I 



98 

TOWSER, 
A TRUE TALE, 

«* Dogs are honest Creatures, 
Ne'er fawn on any that they love not, 
And I'm a friend to dogs. 
They ne'er betray their masters." 

XN mony an instance, without doubt, 
The man may copy frae the brute. 
And by th* example grow much wiser, 
Then, read the short memoirs of Towser. 

With def 'rence to our great Lavaters, 
Wha judge a* mankind by the features, 
There's mony a smiling, pleasant fac'd-cock, 
That wears a heart no worth a custock, 
While mony a yisage, antic, droll, 
O'er-veils a noble, gen'rous soul, 
With Towser this was just the case, 
He had an ill-faur't tawtie face, 
His niak' was something like a messln, 
But big, an' quite unprepossessin', 
His master caft him frae some fallows, 
Wha had him doom'd unto the gallows. 
Because, (sae hap*d poor Towser's lot,) 
He wudna' tear a comrade's throat ; 
Yet in affliirs of Love or Honour, 
He'd Stan' his part amang a hun'er, 
An' whare*er fighting was a merit. 
He never fail'd to shaw his spirit. 



99 

He never girnM in neighbour's face, 
Wi' wild ill-natur'd scant o' grace, 
Nor e'er accosted ane wi' smiles, 
Then, soon as turn'd, wad bite his heels, 
Nor ever kent the courtier art, 
To fawn wi' rancour at his heart, 
Nor aught kent he o' cankert quarlin', 
Nor snarJin' just for sake o' snai'lin', 
Ye'd pinch him sair afore he'd growl, 
Whiik ever shaws a magnanimity of soul. 

But what adds maistly to his fame, 
An' will immortalize his name — 
" Immortalke ! — ^presumptive wight .' 
Thy lines are dull as darkest night, 
Without ae spark o wit or glee, 
To light them through futurity." 
E'en be it sae, poor Towser's story, 
Though lamely tauld will speak his glory. 

*Twas in the month o cauld December, 
When Nature's "fire seem'd just as ember, 
An' growlln' winter bellow'd forth, 
In storms and tempests frae the north- 
When honest Towser's loving master. 
Regardless o' the surly bluster, 
Set out to the neist burrow town, 
To buy some needments o' his own; 
An' case some purse-pest sou'd way-lay him, 
He took his Irusty servant wi' him. 

His bis'ness done, *twas near the gloamin', 
An' ay the king o' storms was foamiu', 



100 

The doors did ring — lum-pigs down tumbl'd, 

The strawns gush'd big — the sinkis loud ruml'd ; 

Auld grannies spread their looves, an* sigh't, 

Wi' " O Sirs ! what an awfu' night !" 

Poor Towser shook his sides a' draigl'd, 

An*s master grudg'd that he had taigl'd, 

But wi' his merchandizing load, 

Come weel, come wae, he took the road. 

Now cluds drave o'er the fields like drift, 

Night flung her black cleuk o'er the lift ; 

An' thro' the naked trees and hedges, 

Th e horrid storm redoubl'd rages : 

An* to complete his piteous case, 

It blew directly in his face. — 

Whyles 'gainst the foot-path stabs he thumped, 

Whyles o'er the coots in holes he plumped ; 

But on he gaed, an' on he waided, 

Till he at length turn'd faint and jaded ; 

To gang he cou'd nae langer bide, 

But lay down by the bare dyke-side — 

Now, wife an' bairns rush'd on his soul, 

He groan'd — poor Towser loud did howl, 

An' mournln' couret down aside him, 

But, O ! his master coudna' heed him, 

For now his senses gan to dozen, 

His vera life-streams maist war' frozen, 

An't seem'd as if the cruel skies. 

Exulted o'er their sacrifice ; 

For fierce the win's did o'er him hiss, 

An' dashM the sleet on his cauid face. 

As on a rock, far, far frae land, 
Twa ship-wreck'd sailors shiv'ring standi 



101 

If chance a vessel they descry, 
Their hearts exult with instant joy. 
Sae was poor Towser joy'd to hear 
The tread o' travellers drawing near, 
He ran, an' yowl'd, and fawn'd upon *era, 
But coudna' mak' them understan' him, 
Till tugging at the foreinost's coat, 
He led them to the mournfu' spot 
Where cauld, an' stiff, his master lay, 
To the rude storm a helpless prey. 

Wi* Caledonian sympathy, 
They bore him kindly on the way, 
Until they reachM a cottage blen, 
They tauld the case, war' welcom'd in — 
The rousin* fire, the cordial drop, 
Restor'd him soon to life and hope ; 
Fond raptures Leam'd in Towser's eye. 
An' antic gonil)als spake his joy, 

Wha reads this simple tale, may see 
The worth of sensibility. 
Ami learn frae it to be humane— 
In Towser's life he sav*d his ain. 



THE RESOLVE. 

** Him, who ne'er listen 'd to the voice of praise. 
The silence of neglect can ns'er appal.' ' 

Bea-ttie, 

X WAS on a sunny Sabbath-day, 
3?V^hen wark-wom bodies get their play, 



10^ 

(Thanks to the rulers o' the nation, 
Wha gl'e us all a toleration, 
To gang, as best may please oursel's ; 
Some to the kirk, some to the fiel's) 
I wander'd out, wi' serious leuk. 
To read tvva page on Nature's beuk ; 
For lang I ve thought, as little harm in 
Hearing a lively out-fiel' sermon, 
Even tho' rowted by a stirk, 
As that aft bawl'd in crowded kirk^ 
By some proud, stern, polemic wight, 
Wha cries, " My way alone is right !" 
Wha lairs himself in controversy, 
Then d — s his neighbours without mercy; 
As if the fewer that were spar'd. 
These few would be the better ser'd. 
Now to my tale — Digression o'er — 
I wander'd out by Stanely tow'r. 
The lang grass on its tap did wave, 
Like weeds upon a warrior's grave ; 
Whilk seem to mock the bloody braggers, 
An' grow on their's as rank's on beggars'. 
But hold, I'm frae the point again. — 
I wander'd up GlenifFer glen ; 
There, leaning 'gainst a mossy rock, 
I, musing, ey'd the passing brook. 
That in its murmurs seem'd to say, 
** 'Tis thus thus my life glides fast away; 
Observe the bubbles on my stream ; 
Like them. Fame is an empty dream, 
They blink a moment to the sun. 
Then burst, and are for ever gone. 



103 

So Fame's a bubble of tne mind; 
Possess'd, 'tis nought, but empty wind, 
No courtly gem e'er purchas'd dearer, 
An' ne'er can satisfy the wearer. 
Let them wha hae a bleezing share o't 
Confess the truth, they sigh for mair o'c. 
Then let contentment be thy cheer. 
An' never soar aboon thy sphere ; 
Kude storms assail the mountain's brow, 
That lightly skiff the vale below." 

A gaudy rose was growing near, 
Proud, tow'ring on its leafy biner. 
In fancy's ear it seem'd to say — 
" Sir, have you seen a flow'r so gay ? 
The poets in my praise combine, 
Comparing Chloe's charms to mine ; 
The sun- beams for my favour sue me. 
And dark-brow'd night comes down to woo me ; 
But when I shrink from his request, 
He draps his tears upon my breast, 
And in his misty cloud sits wae, 

Till chas'd awa' by rival day 

That streamlet's grovMing . grunting fires me, 
Since no' ane sees me, but admires me, 
See yon bit violet 'neath my view : 
Wee sallow thing, its nose is blue ! 
An' that bit pimrose 'side the breckan, 
Poor yellow ghaist, it seems forsaken ! 
The sun ne'er throws't ae transient glow. 
Unless when passing whether or no ; 
But wisely spurning ane sae mean, 
He blinks on me frae morn till e'en." 



104 

To wlilch tlie primrose calm replied — 
*' Poor gaudy gowk suppress your pride, 
For soon the strong flow'r-sweeping blast 
Shall strew your honours in the dust; 
While I beneath my lowly bield, 
Will live an' bloom frae harm conceal^ 
An' while the heavy-rain draps pelt you, 
Ye'il may- he think on what I've telft you." 
The rose derisive seem'd to sneer, 
An' wav'd upon its bonny brier. 

Now darkening clouds began to gather, 
Presaging sudden change of weather ; 
I wandei 'd hame by Stanely green, 
Dee{5 pond'ring what I'd heard an' seen, 
Firmly resolvd to shun from hence, 
The dangerous steeps of eminence; 
To drap this rhyming trade for ever. 
And creep thro' life, a plain, day plodding weaver* 



CONNEL AND FLORA, 

A ScoUish Legend, 



"The, 



\ western sun shines o'er the Lochj 
And gilds the mountain's brow, 
But what are nature's smiles to me, 
Without the smile of you ? 



105 

*' O will ye go to Garnock siilel 

Where blrks and woodbines twine. — « 

I've sought you o't to be my Bride, 
When ! when will ye be mine ?" 

" Oft as ye sought me for your Bride, 

My mind spoke frae my e'e ; 
Then wherefore seek to win a heart, 

That is nor- mine to gi'e ? 

*' With Connel down the dusky dale, 

Long plighted are my vows ; 
He won my hetirt before I wist 

I had a heart to lose." 

The fire flash'd from his eyes of wrath, 

Dark gloom'd his heavy brow, 
He grasp'd her in his arms of strength, 

And strain'd to lay her low. 

She wept and cried — the rocks replied — ■ 

The echoes from their cell, . 
On fairy- wing swift bore her voice, 

To Connel of the dale. 

With vengeful haste he hied him up, 

But when stern Donald saw 
The youth appr ach, deep-stung with guilt, 

He shame^facd fled awa'. 

« Ah ! stay my Connel — sheath thy sword — ■ 
O, do not him pursue ! 



106 

For migihty are liis arms of strength. 
And thou the fight may rue." — 

« No ! — wait thee here, — I'll soon return,— 
I mark'd him from the wood ! — 

The hon-heart of jealous love, 
Burns for its rival's blood ! 

** Ho ! stop thee coward, — villain vile ! 

With ail thy boasted art, 
Mv sword's blade soon shall dim its shine, 

Within thy reynard heart/' — 

** Ha .' foolish stripling, dost thou urge 

The deadly fight with me ? 
This arm strove hard in Flodden Field, 

Dost think 'twill shrink from thee ?" 

*' Thv frequent vaunt? of Flodden Field, 

Were ever fraught with guile ; 
For honour ever marks the brave, 

But thou'rt a villain vile !" — 

Their broad blades glitter to the sun, — 
The woods resound each clash, — 

Young Connel smks 'neath Donald's sword, 
With deep, and deadly gash. 

'* Ah ! dearest Flora, soon our morn 

Of love is overcast ! — 
The hills look dim — Alas I — my love !"— - 

He groan'd and breath'd his last. 



107 

'* Stay ruthless Ruffian I — murtherer ! 

Here glut thy savage wrath ! — 
Be thou the baneful minister, 

To join us low in death !" 

In wild despair she tore her hair. 

Sunk speechless by his side — 
Mild evening wept in dewy tears, 

And wrapt in night she died. 

LINES, 

Written on the bach of a Guinea Notel 

X. HOU little badge of independence, 

Thou mak'st e'en pride dance mean attendance j 

Thou sure has magic in thy looks, 

Gives p — ts a taste for tasteless books ; 

Make? lawyers lie, makes courtiers flatter, 

And wily statesmen Patriots clatter, 

Makes ancient maids seem young again, 

At sixty, beauteous as sixteen ; 

Makes foes turn friends, and friends turn foeSj 

And drugmen brew the pois'ning done, 

And ev'n as common sai^ prevails. 

Thou mak*st e'en justice tip the scales. 



108 
LINES, 

JVritten on seeing a Spider dart out upon a Tlij^ 

i^ET gang your grip, ye auld grim devil! 
Else with ae crush I'll mat:' you civil- 
Like debtor-bard in merchant's claw, 
The fient o' mercy ye've at a' ! 
Sae spite an' malice (hard to ken em,) 

Sit spewin' out their secret venom 

Ah, hear ! — poor buzzart's roaring murder^ 

Let gang ! — na faith ! — thou scorn*st my order ; 

Weel tak' thee that ! — vile ruthless creature ! i 

For wha but hates a savage nature ? 

Sic fate to ilk unsocial kebar, 

Who lays a snare to wrang his neighbour. 



LINES, 

On seeing a Fop pass an old Beggar. 

XAE who unmov'd can hear the suppliant cry 
Of pallid wretch, plac'd on the path-way side, 

Nor cit'gns one pitying look, but passes by, 
In all the pomp of self-adoring pride : 

So may some great man vex his little soul, 
When he obsequious makes his lowest bow ; 

Turn from him with a look that says, vainfool^ 

And speak to some poor man whom he would shame 
to know. 



109 

LINES, 

On a Country Justice in the South, 

W^HAT gars yon gentry gang wi* Jock, 

An' ca* him Sir, an' Master ? 
The greatest dunce, the biggest block, 

That ever nature cuist her ; 
Yet see, they've placed this human stock 

Strict justice to dispense, 
Which plainly shews, yon meikle fo'k 

Think siller stands for setise. 

THE MORALIST. 

** B^^^*^^us! ** cried John, in humanizing moo<l, 

To Will, who'd shot a biackbird in the wood ; 

** The savage Indian pleads necessity, 

** But thou, barbarian wretch ! hast no such plea.'* 

Hark ! — click the aleliouse door — his wife comes in — 

" Dear? help's man John! — preserve me, what dye 

mean ! 
** Sax helpless bairns — the deil confound your drouth! 
" Without ae bit to stop a single mouth." 
** — Get hame," cried John, '* else, jade, I'll kick 

your a — .'* 
Sure such humanity is all a farce. 
K 



110 



A LESSON. 

V^UOTH gofebin Too) of Lancashire, 

To northern Jock, a fewlan* Drover, 
^* Thoose are foin Jcaise thai'rt driving there, 

" They've zure been fed on English clover." 
*^ — Foin kaiseV quoth Joek, " ye bleth'rin' hash, 

*' Deil draw your nose as lang's a sow's \ 
*' That tauk o' yours is queer like trash, 

*' F»inkaiset pooT gowk!-their Hames are KOOSE.*' 
The very Fault which I in others see, 
Like kmd, or worse, perhaps is seen in me. 

LINES, 

On a Flatterer, 

1 HATE 2^fiaU\cf^ as I hate the devil. 

But Tom's a very, very pleasing dog^ 

Of course let's speak of him in terms more civil— 

I hate aJlaU'rer as I hate a hog ; 

Not but applause is music to mineears, ' 

He is a knave who says he 4ikes it not, 

But when, m friendship's guise deceit appeare, 

*X\vould fret a Stoic's frigid temper hot. 



Ill 

A RESOLVE. 

Wrkien on hearing nfeUoiv tell some itoriea, io the huH 
of his best friends. 

A-S secret's the grave be the man whom I twist, 

What friendship imparts stiU let honeur conceal, 
A plague on those Babblers, their names be accurs'^, 

Still first to eiiqidre.^ and the first to revecd. 
As open as day let me be with the man, 

Who tells me my failings, from motives upright. 
But when of those gossiping fools I met oufi, 

-I<et me fbl^ in my soul, and be ^lose a? tj^e night« 

LINES, 

Written with a Pencil in ^ Tap-RoGm, 

X- HIS warl'js a Tap-Room owre an' owrp, 

Whare ilk ana tak's his caper, 
Some taste the sweet, some drink the sour, 

As waiter fate sees proper ; 
Let mankind live, ae social core, 

An' drap a* selfish quar'Iing, 
An' v'hen the Landlord ca's his score. 

May ilk ane*s clink be sterling. 

LINES. 

JtvICH Qripus pretends he's ray patron and frleod, 
That at all times to serve me he s willing, 

But he looks down so sour on the suppjiant poor, 
That I'd starve ere l'^ ask him one shilling. 



11« 

THE PROMOTION. 

For Mr, J, X. 

W HEN the d-v-lgot notice old Charon was dead, 
He w'.sh'd for some blockhead to row in his stead ; 
Fo'- he fear'd one with int'lect discov'ries might make, 
O.' his tortures and racks, 'tother side of the lake ; 
So for true native dulness and want of discernment, 
He sought the whole world, and gave John the pre- 
lerment. 



ANTIPATHY, 

X SCORN the selfish, purse-proud b— , 
Who piques himself on being rich 
With tw -score pounds, late legacied, 
Sav'd by his half-starv'd Father's greed — 
To former neighbours not one word ! 
He bows obb« quious to my Lord. 
In public see him — how he capers ! 
Looks big — stops short — pulls out his papers, 
And from a silly, pupplsh dunce. 
Commences the great man at once* 



113 

LINES, 
TOW 



Noted Jor his. assumed satuatiit^*. 

VV HAT need'st thou dread the end of siKj^ 

The dire reward of evil ; 
Keep but that black infernal grin, 

'Twill scar the vera d-v-K 

W -r-'s RECIPE 

For attaining a Character. 

XF thou on earth wouldst live respecket, 

In few words, here's the way to make it— « 

Get dog-thick vifi' the Parish Priest, 

To a his foibles mould thy taste, 

What he condemns, do thou condemn, 

What he approves do thou the same ; 

Cant scripture words in every case, 

*' Salvashion, saunt, rederashion, grace." 

But controverted points forbear, 

For thou may'st shew thy weakness there ; 

Look grave, demure as any owl. 

A cheerful look might d- the whole. 

Gang rigid to the kirk on Sunday, 
With face as lang's; a gothic window, 
But from these maxims should'st thou severy 
Poor profligate 1 thourt lostjbrjver* 



114 

LINES, 
On a Man of Character. 

W EE A , self-sainted wight^ 

If e*er he won to heaven, 
The veriest wretch, though black as pitch. 

May rest hell be forgiven : 
Wi' haly pride he cocks his nose, 

An* talks of honest dealings, 
But when our webs are at the close^ 

Hq m^^ Si^ twa-ihree shillings, 

EPIGRAMS. 

VARIED Dick to Bob, " great news to day ! 

** Great news," quoth Bob, " what great news, pray?'* 

Said Dick " Our gallant Tars at sea 

" Have gain 'd a brilliant victory." 

*' indeed !" cried Bob, '* it may be true, 

** But thatf you know, is nothing new'* 



Jl RENGH threats of invasion let Britons defy, 
** And pike the proiid frogs if our coast they should 
crawl on." 
Yes statesmen know well that our spirits are high, 
' The financier has rais'd them two skiUings pei* 
gallon. 



115 

^ ATURE, impartial in her ends. 
When she made man the strongest, 

For scrimpet pith to mak' amends, 
Made woman's tongue the longest. 



** \^ HAT,— spice r* said the Printer, " what good, 

do you think, 
*' Can arise from the mixing up spice with my ink ? 
<« —Why, sir," said the Poet, " the thought galls my 

soul ! 
*^ Should they wipe with my book, it would ." 



EPITAPHS. 

On seeing a once worths/ Character li/mg in a state of 
inebriation in the street. 



Xf loss of wealth may draw the pitying tear, 
Stop, passenger, and pay that tribute here — 
Here lies, whom all with justice did comnicni!. 
The rich man's pattern, and the poor man's friend : 
He cheer'd pale Indigence's bleak abode. 
He oft remov'd misfortune's galling load. 
.Nor was his bounty to one sect confin'd, 
His goodness beam'd alike on all mankind; 
Now, lost in folly, all his virtues sleep, 
Let's mind his former worthy and o'er his frailties 
weep. 



116 

FOR T. B. EsQR. 
A Genileman whom Indigence never, solicited in vaivh^ 

JtiiVER green be the sod o'er kkid Tom of the wood. 

For, the poor man he ever supplied ; 
We may weel say, alas ! for our ain scant o' grace, 

That we reckt not his worth till he died : 
Though no rich marble bust numics grief o'er his dust, 

Yet fond memory his virtues will save, 
Oft at lone twilight hour, sad remembraqqe shall pouij 

H^r sorrows, unfeign'd, o'er his grave. 

On a crahhed old Maid. 

XXERE slae thorn Mary's hurcheon bouk, 

llesigns its fretfu* bristles — 
And is she dead ? no-^reader look, 

Her grave's o'ergrown wi' thistles. 



On ajarihing-gatkerer, 

XxERE lies Jamie Wight wha was wealthy an' proud, 
Few shar d his regard an* far fewer his goud; 
He liv*d unesteera'd, an' he died unlamented, 
The KIRK gat his gear, an' auld Jamie is saxnt£I>« 



^ongSt 



FRAGMENT OF A SCOTTISH BALLAD. 

Air — ^*' FingaTs Lamentation,' 

*' Wild drives the bitter northern blast, 

Fierce whirling wide the crisping snavv, 
Young lassie turn your wand'ring steps, 

For e'ening's gloom begins to fa* : 
I'll tak you to my father's ha*, 

An' shield you frae the wintry air, 
For wand'ring thro* the drifting snaw, 

I fear ye'U sink to rise nae mair. 

*' Ah ! gentle lady, air t my way 

Across this langsome^ lanely moor, 
For he wha's dearest to my heart, 

Now waits me on the western shore ; 
With morn he spreads his outward sail, 

This night I vow'd to meet him there, 
To tak* ae secret fond fareweel^ 

We may-be part to meet nae mair. 

** Dear lassie, turn — 'twill be your dead \ 

The dreary waste lies far an' M'ide ; 
Abide till morn, an' then ye'il hae 

My father's herd-boy for your guide." 



118 

** No, Lady,— no ! I maun na turn, 
Impatient love now chides my stayj 

Yon rising moon, with kindly beam, 
Will light me on my weary way." 



Ah ! Donald, wherefore bounds thy heart ? 

Why beams with joy thy wistful e'e ? 
Yqn's but thy true love's fleeting form, 

Thy true love mair thou'lt never see ; 
Peep in the hollow glen she lies, 

Amang the snaw, beneath the tree. 
She soundly sleeps in death's cauld arms, 

A yictim to h^r love for thee* '.... >■ 



THE LASS Q' ARRANTEENIE, 

Set to Muac Ixf Mk Bjou of Aberdeen*, 

Far lone amang tht Highland hilli. 

Midst Nature^s wildest grandeufj 
JBy rocky dens, an' voojy glens, 

With weary stepf | |f«ider. 
The langsome way, the darksome day. 

The mountain paist sae rainy, 
4^re nought to me, when gaun to t^|<?> 

Swee^ lass o* Arrariteenie. 

Yon mossy rose-biid down the ho we, 
Just op'ning fresh an' bonny, 



110 

It bllnics beneatli the hazle boughg 

An*8 scarcely seen by ony ; 
Sae sweet amidst her native liills^ 

Obscurely blooms my Jeany, 
Mair fair an' gay than rosy May, 

The fluw'r o' Arranteenie* 

Now from the mountain's lofty \)W\^, 
I view the distant ocean, 

There Av'rice guides the bounding prow- 
Ambition courts promotion ; 

Let Fortune pour her golden store, 
Her laurel'd favours many, 

Give me but this, my soul's first wish, 
The la&s o* Arranteenie. 



MINE AIN DEAI^ gm#E^6bt. 

: Air — Were I oUig.d^to-h^i 

When gloamin* treads the heels o^day, 
And birds sit cowrin^ on the spray,' :' 
Alang the flow'ry hedge I^sjVay" . 
To meet mine ain deaft *OfriihO^0bdy. 

The scented brier, the fragranC bean. 
The clover bloom, the dewy green, 
A' charm me,ias I rove at e'en, 
To meet mine ain dear somebody, 

I>iet warriors prize the hero's name, 
Let mad ambitiofl tower for fame, 
I'm happier in my lowly hame. 
Obscurely blest wi' somebody. 



120 
SONG. 

Air — " Clean pea'itrae* 

When John an* me were married, 

Our haudin' was but sma', 
For my minnie, canker' t carlin, 

Wou'd gie us nocht ava*; 
I walr't my fee wi' canny care, 

As far as it wou'd gae, 
But, weel-I-wat, our bridal bed 

Was clean pea-strae. 

Wi* wurkin' late an' early, 

We're come to what ye see, 
For fortune thrave aneath ouf ban's, 

Sae eydent ay war* we ; 
The lowe o' hive made labour light, 

I'm sure ye'll find it sae, 
When kind ye cuddle down at e'en 

'Mang clean pea-strae. 

The rose blooms gae on calrny brae, 

As weel*s In brrken shaw, 
An' luve will lowe in cottage low, 

As weel's in lofty ha* : 
Sae lassie tak' the lad ye like, 

Whate'er your minnie say, 
Tho' ye sou'd mak' your bridal bed 

O' clean pease- strae. 



m 

WINTEli Wr His CLOUDY BROW 
Air—-*^ Fometh housed 

few winter, wi* his cloudy brow^ 

Is far ayont yon mountains, 
And spring beholds her azure sky 

Reflected in the fountains. 
Kow on the budding slaethorn bank 

She spreads her early blossom, 
And wooes the mlrly-breasted birds 

To neFtJe in her bosom. 
But lately a" was clad wi* snaw, 

Sae darksome, dull, an* dreary, 
1^0 w Javrocks sing to hail the spring. 

An' nature all is clieery. 

Then let us leave the town, my love, 

An' seek our country dwelling, 
"Where waving woods, and spreading flow WJ 

On ev'ry side are smiling. 
We'll tread again the daisied green, 

Where first )'our be^utv mov'd me ; 
We 11 trace again the woodland scene 

\v*here first ye own'd ye lov'd rae, 
Wc i-oon will view the roses blaw 

In a' the charms o fancy, 
For doubly dear these pleasures a* 

Whea sbar'd wf you, my Nancy, 



m 

SONG. 

Air — ** Sleepin M&ggie^, 

Cikoil. — O are ye sleepin' Maggie, , 
O are ye sleepin' Maggie I 
Let me in, for loud the linn 
Is roarin* o'er the warlock craggiiji 
Mirk an* rainy is the night, 

No* a starn in a' the carry ^ 
liightnings gleam athwart the lift. 
An' winds drive wi' winter's fury. 

O are ^e sleepin Maggie, Sfc* 

Fearfu* soiighs the boor-tree bank, 
The rifted wood real's wild-an' dreary, 

Loud the iron yate does clank, 

An* cry o' howlets mak's me eerie. 

O are ye sleepin Maggie, SfCa 

Aboon my breath I daurna' speak. 

For fear 1 rouse your waukrife Daddie, 
Cauld's the blast upon my cheekj 

O rise, rise my bonny lady ! 

arc ye deepin Maggie^ ^Co 

She opt the door, she let him in, 

He cuist aside his dreepm' plaidie ; 
** Blaw your warst.ye rain an' win', 

*' Smcg Maggie now I'm in aside ye." 
Chor. — Now since ye're wauken Maggie, 
Now since ye're wauken Maggie ! 
"What care I for howlet's cry^ 
For boor-tree bank, or warlack crsigle ": 



J2S 

MY MARY. 

offr— « lnvereatdd*s Red,*^ 

My Mary is a bonny lassie. 

Sweet as the dewy morn. 
When fancy tunes her rural reed, 

Bjeside the Bplan.d thorn ; 
She lives ahint yon sonny knowe, 
Where flow'rs in wild profusion grow, 
Where i^reading birks, an hazles throw 

Their shadows o'er the bura. 

It's no* the streamlet-skirted wood, 

Wr a* its leafy bow'rs, 
^hat gars me wade in solitude 

Amang the wild-sprung fk)w:*rs ; 
JBut aft I cast a langin* e'e, 
Down frae the bank out owre the lee^ 
There haply I my lass may see, 

A,s through the broom she scours* 

Yestrcent I met my bonny lassie 

Coming f»- - the town, 
We 'raptur ,^unk in ithers arras, 

A.n' prest tlje breckans down ; 
The pairtrick sung his e'ening note, 
The rye-craik rispt his clam'rous throat;^ 
W^i^e there the heay'nly vow I got 

That crl'd her roy own* 



12* 

BIRGE. 

Alr—^^ My iimCi y6 viusesy 

Responsive ye woods wing your cchods along, 
Till nature, all sad, weeping, listen my song, 
Till flocks cease their bleating, an4 herds cease to IoWj> 
And the clear winding rivulet scarce seems to flow* 
For fair was the flower that once gladden'd our plain$> 
Sweet rose-bud of virtue, ador'd by our swains, 
But fate, like a blast from the chill wintry wave, 
Has laid my sweet flower in yon cold silent gr^ve. 

Her warm feeling breast did with sympathy glow. 
In innocence pure as the new mountain snow; _ 
Her face was more fair than the mild apple-bloom ; 
Her voice sweet as hope whisp'ring pleasures to ccMlif;* 
O Mary, my love \ wilt thou never return 1 
*Tis thy William who calls— -^burst the bands of thy i^! 
Together we'll wander— poor wretch how I rave 1 
My Mary lies low in the lone silent grave. 

Yon tall leafy planes throw a deep solemn shade 
O'ei the dear holy spot where my Mary is.lai4, >f 
!Lest the light wanton sua beams obtrude on thegloont 
That lorn-love and friendsliip have wove roAU^ 1^ 

tomb: ^ ..^^^,^_ 

Still there let the mild tear^ of nature renjaia,. .^^^ 
Till calm dewy ev'ning weep o'er her again; ■■.»? 
There oft I will wanderr-no boon now I cravcj^ ; ^ f 
put to weep life awny o*€r her dark silei;t grav^ / " 



125 

SONG. 
THE DEFEAT, 

f'ltOM hip to hill the bugles soi|nd 

The soul-arousing; strain ; 
The war-bred coursers paw the ground. 

And fpaming champ the rein ; 
Their steel-clad riders bound on higfej 

A bold defensive host, 
With valour fir*d, away they fiy, 

Like light'oing, to the coast. 

And ROW they vi^w the wide-spread linei^ 

Of the invading fb^ : 
Now skill with Britisb brav^'ry joins, 

To strike o^q final Uow ; 
Kow op they rush with giant stroke — 

Ten thousand vi^tinis bleed — 
TJhey trample oq the iron yoke, 

A^^l^ich France for us decreed. 

Now view the trembling vanquished crev?,. 

Kneel o'er tb^ir prostrate arras, 
Implore respite of vengeance, due, 

For all th€«e dire alarms. 
Now, while humanity's warm glowj 

Half-weeps the guilty slain^ 
Lut conquest gladden ev'iy brow, 

And god-iikie mercy reign. 



U6 

Thus fancy paints that awful day.—* 

Yes, dreadful should it come ! 
But Britain's sons in stern array, 

Shall brave its darkest gloom. 
Who fights, his native rights to save, 

His worth shall have its claim. 
The bard will coase<f:ra.te his grave, 

And give his name to fame. 



THE LAMENT OF WALLACE, 

AVrXK THE BATTLE OF FALKIRK. 

^zr-r-'* Maids of ArrocJiar^ 

Tnoy dark winding Carron once pleasing to see, 

To me thou can'st never give pleasure again. 
My brave Caledonians lie low on the lee, 

And thy streams are deep-ting'd 'with tlie blood of 
the slain. 
Ah ! base-hearted treach'ry has doomM our undoing. 

My poor bleeding country, what more can I do? > 
Ev'n valour looks pale o'er the red field of ruin, 

And freedom beholds her best warriors laid low. 

Farewell ye dear partners of peril ! fdre^vell ! 

Tho' buried ye lie in one wide bloody grave, 
Your deeds shall ennoble the place where ye fell. 

And your names be enroll'd with the sons of the 
But f , a poor outcast, in exile must wander, 

Perhaps, like a traitor, ignobly must die 1 
On thy wrongs, O my country! indignant I ppndeft 

Ah! \v:oe to the hour when thy Wallact-Ujustfly! 



1£7 

THO^ HUMBLE MY LOT. 

j^ir — " Her sheep had in clusters.^* 
Where primroses spring on the green tufted brae^ 
And the riv'let runs murm'ring below, 

fortune, at morning, or noon, let me stray I 
And thy wealth on thy vot'ries bestow ; 

For, O how enraptur'^d my bosom does glow ! 

As calmly I wander alane, 
Where wild woods, and bushes and primroses grow^ 

And a' streamlet enlivens the scene. 

Tho' humble my lot, not ignoble's my state. 
Let me still be contented, tho*^ poor ; 

What destiny brings, be resign'd to my fate, 
Tho' misfortune should knock at my door. 

1 care not for honour, preferment, nor wealth, 

Nor the titles that affluence yields, 
While blythly I roam, in the hey day of health, 
'Midst the charms of my dear native fields. 



YE DEAH ROMANTIC SHADES. 

Air — " Mrs, Hamilton of Wishaivs siraihspey*^ 
Vab. from the giddy court of mirth, 

Where sick'ning follies rei«n, 
By Levern-Banks I wander forth 

To hail each silvan scene. 
All hail, ye dear romantic shades I 
Ye banks, ye woods, and sunny glades ! 
Jiere oft, the wusing poet treads. 

In nature's riches gre^it ;. 



1«8 

Coixtifasts tlie country witb the tovm^ 
Makes nature's beauties all Tiis own. 
And borne on fancy's wings lookfe 4owo 
On empty pride and state. 

By ^ewy dawn, or sultry tippp. 

Or sober evening gray, 
I'll often quit tlje dinsome town. 

By Levern banks to stray ; 
Or from the upland's mossy brow. 
Enjoy the fancy-pIeaslng view, 
Of streamlets, woods, and fields below^ 

A sweetly varied scene I 
Give riches to theinlser's care. 
Let folly shine in fashion's glare* 
Give me the wealth of p^ace and li€aUTs> 

With all their happy train. 



BONNY WOOD OF CRAIGIE-UEE. 

CfloR. — Thou bonny wood of Craigie-le^ 
Thou bonnv wood of Craigie-lee, 
Near thee I past life's eariy day. 
And won my Mar) 's heart in the©. 

The broonj, the brier, the birken bush, 
Bloom bonny o'er thy flowery lea, 
An' a* the sweets that ane can wish 
Frae nature's ban' are strewn on tKee. 

Far ben thy dark gre,en plautin's sliadCf 
The cushat croodics amorously^ 



The En avis down Ay blighted ^gladca ' - .51; i**^ 

Gafs echo ^ing frae ev'ry Uee* ^ ■**{ 

JI^ow 6onn^ imod, ^c^ 

Awa* ye thoughtless murd ring gang, 
Wha tear the nestlings ere they flee I 
They'll sing you yet a c^nty sang, 
Then, O in jMty let them be 1 

Thou honny wood, <^c» 

*», 
When winter blaws m sleety showVsj^ 
Frae aff the norlin hills sae hi"", 
He lightly skjfi& thy bonny tow'rs^ 
Aslaith to harm a flow r in thee. 

Thou boraiy wood\ S[&. 

Though fate- Should drag frfe south the Vxii^n 
Or o'er the wide AtiaiUie sea. 
The happy hours I'll ever min' 
That 1 ii\ yO(Uth hae spent in thee. 

Thou honny wood, ^c» 

BONNY WINSOME MARY. 

Wriiten io a Gcelic air* 
Fortune, frowning most severe, 
Forc'd me from my native dwelling, 
Parting with my friends so dear, 
Cost m many a bitter tear : 
But, like the cIoHfls of early day, 
Soon my sorrows fled away, 
When blooming sweet, and smiling gay,, 
1 met my winsome Mary. 



130 

Wlia can sTt wi' gloomy brow, 
hhs^ wi' sic a charming lassie ? 
Kative scenes I thinjc on you. 
Yet the change \ canna rue ; 
Waqdcring uiany a weary mile. 
Fortune seem'd'to, lowr the whife. 
But now she's gien me for the toils 
Mj bonny winsome Marj'. 

Tho' our riches are but few, 
Faithfu' love is ay a treasure. 
Ever cheery, kind, an' true,.. . 
Nane but her I e'er can lo«. 
Hear me, a' ye ptfwers above, 
^Powers of sacre.d truth and love. 
While I live I'll constant prove. 
To my dear winsome Mary, 



MAIIJORV MILLER. 

Louder than the trump of fame. 

Is tii^ voice of Marjory Miller, 
Time the wildest beast can tame. 
She's eternally the sanje: 

Loud the mill's incessant clack, 
Loud the clink »)f V^ukan's hammer. 
But louder far her <iiasome clamour I 

Nought on earth can equal he 

To the noise of Marjory. 



' rzu mh. ' 



131 

Calm fiicbeecis the tempest's r(>air» 
Peace does follow war's confiisiori, 

IXtgs do bark and sooo give o'er, 

But sbe barks for evermore; 

Loud's tlie sounding bleachfield horn* 

Bat iier voice is ten time's louder I 
Ked's the sun on winter mom. 

Bat her face is ten tiroes redder ! 
She delights in endless strife, 
Lord preserve's from such a wif^» 



JOHNNIE LAD. 

OcH hey, Johnnie lad, 

Ye're no sae kind's ye soiid hae becn^ 
Och hev, Johnnie lad. 

Ye didna keep your trjrst yestreen. 
I waited lang beside the wood, 

Sae wae an' weary a' my lane, 
Och hey, Johnnie lad, 

Ye're no sae kind's ye soud ^ae been. 

I looked by the whinny knowe, 

I looked by the lirs sae green, 
I k)oked owre the spunkie howe. 

An* ay I thought ye would hae been. 
The ne'er a supper crost my craig^ 

The ne'er a sleep has clos't my een, 
Och hey, Johnnie lad, 

Ye'ere no &ae kind's ye soud hae t>ee»^ 



132 

Gin ye war' waltln' by the wooif 

Then I was waitin' by the thorn, 
I thocht it was the place we set, 

An* waitet raaist till dawnin' mora, 
<Sae be na* vext^ my bonny lassie, 

Let ray waitin' stan* for thine, 
We'll awa' to Craigton-shatw, 

An* seek the joys we tint yestreen. 



THE FAREWEEL. 

Air-^^^ Lord Gregory^* 

Accuse me not, inconstant fair, 

Of being false to thee, 
For I was true, wouid still been so, 

Had'st thou been true to me ; 
But when I knew thy plighted lips, 

Once to a rival's prest, 
Love-smother'd, independence 'rose, 

And spurn'd thee from my breast* 

The fairest flow'r in nature's field, 

Conceals the rankling thorn, 
So thou, sweet flow'r 1 as false as fair, 

This once-kind heart hath torn ; 
'Twas mine to prove the felieyt pangs, 

That slighted Ipve can feel : 
*Ti8 thine to weep that one rash act, 

Wich bids this long f^eweel. 



1S5 

ROW THEE IN MY HIGHLAND PLAID, 

Set to Music by Mr, Ross of Aberdeen, 
Lowland lassie wilt thou go, 
Whare the hills are clad wi* snow; 
Whare beneath the icy steep, 
The hardy shepherd tends his sheep ; 
111, nor wae shall thee betide, 
When fow'd within my highland Plaids 

Soon the voice o* eheety spring, 
Will gar a' our plantins ring ; 
Soon our botiny heather braes, 
Will put on their summer claes ; 
On the mountain's sunny side, 
We*ll lean us on my highland Plaid. 

When the simmer spreads the flow'rS;, 
Busks the glens in leafy bow'rs, 
Then we'll seek the calor shade. 
Lean us on the primrose bed, 
While the burning hours preside, 
I'll screen thee wi' my highland Plaids 

Then we'll leave the sheep an' goat, 

1 will launch the bonny boat. 
Skim the loch in canty glee, 
Rest the oars to pleasure thee. 
When chilly breezes sweep the tide, 
I'll hap thee wi' my highland Plaid* 

Lowland lads may dress mair fine, 
Woo in words mair saft than mine ; 
M 



1S4. 

Lowland lads hae mair o' art, 
A* my boast's an tibniest heart, 
Whllk shall ever be my pride ; 
O row thee in my highland plaid ! 

" Bbrtiiy lad, yeVe been Sae leal, 
*' My heart would break ^t our fareweel^ 
" Lang your love has made me fain, 
** Tak' me — tak' me fbir your ain !'* 
Cross the firth, awa' they glide. 
Young Donald and his Lowland bride. 



\Vr WAEFU' HEART. 

Air — ** Sweei Annie Jrae the sea deaek came" 

Wi* waefu* heart, an* sorrowing e'e, 

I saw my Jamie sail awa,'* 
O 'twas a fatal day to me, 

That day he past the Berwick law, 
How joyless now seem'd all behind ! 

I llng'ring stray 'd alang the shore ; 
Dark boding fears hung on ray mind 

That I miglit never see him more. 

The night came on wi* heavy rain, 

Loud, fierce, and wild, the tempest blew ; 
In mountain's roll'd the awful main — 

Ah, hapless maid ! my fears how true ! 
The landsmen heard their drowning cries : 

The wreck was seen with dawning day ; 
My love was found, an' now he lies 

Low in the isle of gloomy May» 



135 

O boatman kiir^ly waft me o'er ! 

The cavern 'd rock shall be my home ; 
'Twill ease my burthen'd heart, to povic 

Its sorrows o'er his grassy tomb : 
With sweetest flow'rs I'll deck his grav0, 

An' tend them through the langsonie year i 
I'll water them, ilk morn an' eve, 

With deepest sorrow's warmest tear. 



THE MANIAC'S SONG. 
Set to Miisic hy Mr. R. A. Smith, 

Hark! 'tis the poor ma«iae*s song — 

She sits on yon wild craggy steep, 
And while the winds mournfully whistle along, 
] She wistfully looks o'er the deep ; 
And ay she sings " Lullaby^ lullaby^ hdlahyl'^ . 

To hush the rude billows asleep. 

She looks to yon rock far at sea. 
And thinks it her lover's white sail. 

The warm tear of joy glads her wild glist'ning eye, 
As she beckons his vessel to hail ; ' 

And ay slie sings* " Lullaby^ lullaby y lullaby T* ' 

And frets at the boisterous gale. 

Poor Susan was gentle and fair, 

Till the seas robb'd her heart of its joy, 

Then her reason was lost in the gloom of despair, 

And her charms then did wither and die ; 

And now her sad " lullaby^ lullaby^ lullaby C* 

Oft makes the lone passenger's eigh. 



136 

THE BBAES O* GLENIFFER, 

Air — " Bonny Dundee** 

Keen blaws the win' o'er the braes o' Glenifler, 

The au!d castle's turrets are cover'd wi* snaw ; ,/ 
How chang'd frae the time when I met wi' my lover, 

Araang the broom bushes by Stanley green shaw: 
The wild flow'rs o* simmer war' spread a' sae bonny. 

The mavis sang sweet frae the green birken tree ; 
But far to the camp they hae march'd my dear Johnuiei 

An' now, it is winter, wi' nature an* me^ 

Then^lk thing around us was blithsonie an' cheery. 

Then ilk thing around us was bonny an' braw : 
Now naething is heard but the wind whistlin' dreary. 

And naething is seen but the wide-spreading §naws 
The trees are a' bare, an* the birds mute an* dbwie, 

They shake the cauld drift fr^e their wings as thej 
flee, 
An' chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for mj 
Johnnie, 

'Tis winter wi' them, an' 'tis winter wi' me. 

Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the bleak mountain. 

An' shakes the dark firs on the stey rocky brae, 
While down the deep gleen bawls the inaw-flooded 
fountain, 

That raurmur'd sae sweet to ray laddie an* me. 
It's no its loud roar on tlie wint'ry win' swellin', 

It's no the cauld blast brings the tear i' my e'e, 
For, O gin I saw but my bonny Scotch callan. 

The dark days o' winter war' siiBieer to me S 



•|S7 

YE ECHOES THAT RIN'G. 

Set to Music by Mr. Smit/i. 

Ye echoes that ring roun* the woods o' Bowgreen, 
Sae did ye e'er hsten sae meltin" a strain, 

When lovely young Jessie gaed vvand'ring unseen, 
And sung o'er her laddie, the pnde o' the plairi. 

Ay she sung Willie, my bonnie young Willie ! 

There's no a sweet flower on the mountain or valley, 

Mild, blue sprlttl'd crovyflower, nor wild woodland lilly, 
But tines a' its sweets in my bonny young swain. 

Thou goddess o* love, keep him constant to me, 

Else with'ring in sorrow poor Jessie shall die. 

Her laddie had stray 'd thio igh the dark leafy wood, 

His thoughts were a fixt on his dear lassie's charms, 
He heard her sweet voice, all transported he stood, 

'Twas the soul of his wishes — lie flew to her arms. 
'* No, my dear Jessie, my lovely young Jessie, 
Thro' simmer, thro' winter, I'll daut an' caress thee, 
Thou'rt dearer than life, thou'rt my ae only lassie, 

Then, banish thy bosom these needless alarms. 
Yon red setting sun sooner changeful shall be, 
Ere wavering m falsehood I wander frae thee." 



THE KEBBUCKSTON WEDDIN'. 

Written to an ancient Highland air^ 

.iAuLD Watty o'Kebbuckston brae, 

WJ' lear an' readin' o' beuks auld-farren^ 



138 

What think ye ! the body cam' ower the clay, 
An* tauld us he's gaun to be married to Mirren ; 

We a' gat a biddin' 

To gang to the vvaddin', 
Baith Johnnie and Sawney, an' Nelly an' Nanny, 

An' Tarn o' the knowes, 

He swears an* he vows, 
At the dancin' he'll face to tlie bride wi* his grannie. 

A' the lads hae trysted their joes, 

Slee Willie cam' up an' ca'd on Nelly, 
Altho* she was hecht to Geordie Bowse, 

She's gi'en |<im the gunk an* she*s gaun wi' Willy — 

Wee collier Johnnie 

Has yocket his ponney, 
All's aff to the town for a ladin' o* nappy, 

Wi' fouth o* gude meat, 

To ser' us to eat, 
Sae wi* fuddlin' an* feastin* we'll a' be fou' happy. 

W^ee Patle Brydie*s to say the grace. 

The body's ay ready at dredgies an' weddin's, 
An' flunkey M'Fee, o' the Skiverton plac«. 
Is chosen to scuttle the pies an* the puddm's ; 
For there'll be plenty 
O' ilka thing dainty, 
Baith lang kail an* haggies, an' every thing fitting, 
Wi* luggies o' bear, 
Our wizzens to clear, 
Sae the deil fill his kyte wha gangs clung frae the 
meeting. 

Lowrie has caft Gibbie Cameron's gun, 

That his auld gutcher bure when he follow 'd Prince 
Charley, 



139 

The barrel was msted as black as tbc gmn, 

Buf he's taen*t to the smiddy an's fittin it rarely ; 

Wi* wallets o' pouther, 

His musket he'll shouther, 
An' ri4e sft our head, to the bride's a' parading 

At ilka farm-town 

He'll fire them three roun', 
Till the hale kintra ring wi' the KebhucksUm Weddin\ 

Jamie an* Johnnie maun ride the hrouse. 

For few like them can sit i'^ the saddle ; 
An' Willy Cobreath, the best o' bows, 
Is trysted to jig i' the barn wi* his fiddle.; 

Wi* whiskin, an fllskin', 

An* reelin' an* wheelin*, 
The young anes a' like to loup out o' the body, 

An* Neilie M'Nalrn, 

Though sair forfairn, 
lie vows that he'lJ wallop twa sets wi' the howdie, 

Sauney M'Nab, wi* his tartan trews, 

Has hecht to cone down in the midst o' the caper,. 
An' gie us three wallops o' merry-shantrews 

Wi' the true higMand-Jlingo* Macrirampn the piper; 
Sic hippln' an' sklppm , 
An' springin' an' flingin', 
I's wad that there's nane i* the lallands can waif it ! 
Feth ! Willy maun fiddle, 
An' jirgum an' diddle. 
An' screed till the sweat fa' in bjeads frae his haffet. 

Then gie me your han', my trusty gude frien' ! 
An' gie rae your word; my worthy, auld kipamer i 



140 

Ye'll baitli come owre-on Friday bedeen, 

An' join us in rantin' an' toomin' the timmer; 

Wr fouth o* glide liquor, 

"We*il haud at the bickar, 
An' lang may tlie viailin o* Kebbuchston flourii-h, 

For fVattifs sae free, 

Between you an' me, 
I'se warren't he's bidden the ha'f o* the parish. 



SONG, 

On reading " The Harpkr or Mulx," a Highland Story. 

Set t(x Music hy Mr. S7miL 

When Rosie was faithful, how happv was I^ 

Still gladsome as simmer the time glided by, 

I play'd my harp cheery, while fondly I sang. 

Of the charms o' my Rosie the winter nights lanc^. 

But now Fm as waefu' as waefu' can be, 

Come siminer, come winter, 'tis a' ane to me, 

For the dark gloona of falsehood sae clouds my sad soul, 

That cheerless for ay is the Harper' of MulL 

I wander the glens an' the wild woods alanc, 
In tJieir deepest recesses 1 mak' my sad mane. 
My harp's mourufu' melody joins in the strains.. 
While sadly 1 sing o' the days that are gane ; 
Tho' llosie is faithless she's nae the less fair, 
An' the thought o' her beauty but feeds my despair ;. 
Wi' painfu' remembrance my bosom is full, 
An' weary o' life is the Harper of IMulI, 



Ml 

As slnmb'ring I lay by the dark mountain -st*«ani,^ 

My lovely young Rosie appear'd in my dream ; ' 
I thought her still kind, an' I ne'er wiis sae biest, 
As in fancy I claspt the dear Nymph to my breast. 
Thou fause fleeting vision too soon thou vvert o'er ! 
Thou wak'dst me to tortures unequali'd before ; 
But death's silent slumbers my griefs soon shall lull ; 
An' the ^^reen grass vi^ave over tite Harper of Mull. 

THE KEGRO GIRL. 

Set io Music hy Mr* Ross of Aberdeen. 

Yon poor Negro girl, an exotic plant, 

Was torn from her dear native soil, 
Reluctantly borne o'er the raging Atlant, 

Then brought to Britannia's isle. 
Though Fatima's mistress be loving and kinci, 

Poor Fatima 8tiH must deplore \ 
She thinks on her parents left weeping behind, 

And siglis for her dear native shore. 

She thinks on her Zadi, the y^th of her heart, 

Who from childhood was \os'mv and true, 
How he cried on the beach, when the ship did depart ! 

'Twas a sad everlasting adieu : 
The shell-woven gift wliich he bound round her arin, 

The rude seamen unfeelingly tore. 
Nor left one sad relic her sorrows to charm, 

Wlien far from her dear native shore, 



14^ 

AncI now, all dejected, she wanders apart, 

No friend, save retirement, she seeks ; , 
The sigh of despondency bursts from her heart. 

And tears dew her thin sable cheeks ; 
Poor liard-fated girl, long, long may she mourn, 

Life's pleasures to her are all o*er, 
Far lied every hope that she e'er shall returu 

To revisit her dear native shore, 

THE SOLDIEirS FUNERAL. 

Air — H oldens Dead March, 

Now, let the procession move solemn and slowj 
While the soft mournful music accords with our woe, 
Wr.ile Friendsl/ip's warm tears round his ashes areshed^ 
And soul-melting Memory weef)s fo»^ the dead. 
Kind good-hearted fellow as ever wvs known, 
So kind and so good, every heart was his own ; 
Now, alas ! low in death are his virtues all o'er ; 
How painful the thought, we will see hira no more t 

In camp or in quarters he still was the same. 
Each countenance brighten'd wherever he came ; 
Wiien the wars of his country Impell'd him to roami^^* 
He cheerful would sav all the world was his home ; 
And when the fierce conflict of armies began, 
He fought like a lion, yet felt as a man ; 
For when British bravery had vanquish'd the foe, 
He'd weep o'er the dead by his valour laid low. 

Ye time-fretted mansions ! ye mou'd'ring piles ! 
Loud echo his praise ihroiigli your long vaulted alsless 



143 

If haply his shade* nightly glide through your glocm^ 
O teli him, our hearts lie with him in the tomb! 
And say, tho' he's ^(one, long his worth shall remain, 
Rememl)er'd, belov'd, by the whole of the men : 
Who e'er acts like him, with a warm feeling lieart, 
Friendship's tears drop applause at the close of his part. 

,THE pQqeiE, 

^/r— " Cauld kail i?t Aherdeen^^ 

When poortith cauld and sour disdain. 

Hang o'er life's vale sae foggy, 
The sua that brightens up the scene 
Is friendship's kindly eoggie ; 
Then, O revere the eoggie, sirs! 
The friendly, social eoggie ! 
It gurs the wheels o* life run light, 
Tho' e'er sae doilt an' cloggy. 

Let pride in fortune's chariot fly, 
Sae emptyv vain, an' voguie ; 
The source of wit, the spring of joy, 
Lies in the social eoggie ; 

Then, O revere ihe eoggie. Sirs, 
The independent eoggie. 
And never snooi beneath the frown 
Of ony selfish rogie. 

Poor modest Worth, wi' cheerless e'e, 

Sits hurkiin' in the boggie, 
Till she asserts her dignity, 

J5v virtue o' the coi^fjie ; 



144 

Then, O fevere the eo^ie, sirs, 
The poor man's patron's coggie, 
It warsels care, it fechts life's fairghtSy 
An' lifts him frae the boggle. 

Gie feckless Spain her weak snall-bro^j 

Gre France her weel splk't frogie, 
Gle brither John his luncheon too, 
But gie to us our coggie. 

Then, O revere the coggie, sirs. 
Our souls warm kindred coggie, 
Hearts doubly knit in social tie> 
When just a wee thought groggy. 

In days of yore our sturdy sires, 

Upon their hill sae scroggy, 
Glow'd with true freedom's warmest fires, 
An' faught to save their coggie. 
Then, O revere the coggie, slrs> 
Our brave forefathers coggie, 
It rous'd them up to doughty deeds> 
O'er whilk we'll lang be vogie. 

Then, here's may Scotland ne*er fa' down, 

A cringin', cowjtrd doggie, 
But bauldiy Stan' an' bang the loon; 
Wha'd reave her o' her coggie. 
Then, O protect the coggie, slrSj, 
Our gude aald mither's coggie ; 
Nor let her luggle e'er be drain'd. 
By ony foreign rogie. 

FINIS. 



W. Falconer, Printer, Ulasgow. 



.ONGS. 



THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE. 



'The fun has gane down o*er the lofty Benlomond, 
And left the red clouds to prefide o'er the scene, 
"While lanely I ftray in the calm simmer gloaiiUBg, 
To muse on sweet JefTie, the flower o' Dumblane, 
How fvveet is the brier, wi' its faft faulding ' 

bloflbm ! 
And fweet is the birk wi* if mantle o* green, 
Yet sweeter, and fairer, and dear to this bofom, 
Is lovely young Jeflie, the flower o' Duaib^ane. 

She's modefl as ony, an' bjythe as Ine's bonny, 
For guiieiess fimplicity marks her its ain ; 

I. 



Ad* far be the villain, divef?ted o' feeling:, 
WhaM blight in its blcffom the fweet flow'r o' 

DumbJane 
Sing on^ thou fweet mavis, thy hymn to the e*en- 

Thou'rt dear to the echoes o* Calderwood glen^ 
Sie dear to this bufom, tae art es* and winning, 
Is charming young Jessie, the flower o' Dumblapc 

How lost were my days till I met wi* my Jeflie, 
Ihe fports o' the city feem'd foolish and vain, 
1 ne'er faw a nymph I could ca' ray dear laffie. 
Till charm'd wi' fweer Jelfie, the flow'r o' 

Dumblane 

Tho' mine were the ftation o' loftieft grandeur, 
Amidft its profusion I'd languifh in pain, 
An' reckon as naething the heignt o' its fplendour 
/f wanting sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane, 



GLOOMY WINTER'S NOW AW A'. 



Gloomy winter'? now awa', 
l^afc the waiiUafi' brtczei blaw; 



'Mang the*ibirks o* ftanely fliaw, 
The mavil fings fu* cheery^ O. 

Sweet the crow- flower's early bell, 
Decks GlenifFer's dewy dell ; 
Blooming like the bonny fel', 
My young, my artlefs dearie, O. 

Come, my lafTie, let us stray, 
O'er Glenkilloch's funny brae, 
Blythly fpend the gowden diy 

'Midft joys that never weary, O. 

Tow'ring o'er the Newton woods 
Lav'rocks fan the fuow white clouds ; 
Siller saughs with downy buds, 
Adorn the banks fae briery, O. 

Round the fylvan fairy nooks, 
Feath'ry brecans tringe the rocks, 
'Neath the brae the burnie jouks; 
And ilka thing is cheery, O. 

Trees may bud, and birds may ^ing, 
Flow'rs may bloom, and verdure fpring^ 
Joy to me they cannot bring, 
Unless wi* thee, my dearie, O. 



LOUDEN»S BONNY WOODS AND 
BRAES. 



Louden*s bonny woods and braes, 
I maun lea' them a' laffie: 
Wha can tho!e whan Briton's faes 
"Wad gie Briton's law bfiie. 

Wha wad {hwA the field o* danger, 
Wha frae fame wad live a ftranger; 
Now whan Britain is in danger, 
V/ha would iiiuu her ca', laffie. 
Louden's bonny woods and braes, 
Hae ieen our peacefu* happy days : ^ 
And gentle hope fliall foothe thy vvaes 
Whan I am far awa', lailie. 

Hark ! the fwelling bngule fings, 

Yie']<:ing joy to the:', laddie; 

But the dolefu' bugk- brings 

Waeki' thoughts to me, laddie : 

Lanely I maun climb the mountaip, 
Lonely ftray bcfide the fountain, 
Still the weary moments, counting 
Far frae love and thee, laddie. 



O'er the gory field o' war, 

Where Vengeance drives her crimfon car, 

You may ta', frae rae afar, 

And nane to clofe thy e'e, laddie, 

O resume thy wonted fmile, 
O fupprefs thy fears laflie, 
Honour, glory, crowns the toil, 
That the lodger (hares, laflie 

Heaven will ihield thy faithful lover, 
Till tl^e vengeful ftrife be over, 
Then we'll meet, nae mair to fever, 
Till the day we die, laflTie; 

Louden's bonny woods and braes, 
Shall fee our future happy days, 
And blythe our hearts as lambs that graze 
On Louden's bonny b/aes, laflie. 



THE BRAES O' BALQUHITHER, 



Let us go, laflie, go, 

to the braes o' Balquhither, 

Where the blae berries grow 

'fljang the bonny Highland heather; 



Where the deer and the roe, 
lightily bounding together, 

Sport the lang fimmer day 
on the braes o' Balquhither j 



1 



I vv 11 twine you a bower 
by the clear (lUer fountain ; 

And •'11 cover i& o'er 

Wi' 'he flowers o' the mountain j 

i'll range through the wilds, 
and the f^eep glens fae dreary. 

And return wi' their fpoils 
to the bower o' my dearie. 

While the lads o* the fouth 
toil for bare wcrdly treafure, 

To the lads o' the north 

every day brings its pleafure. 

Tho' fimp^e are the joys, 

the brave Highlander poffefTeSj 

Yet he feel no annoys, 
tor he tears no diitrefles. 

When the rude w'ntry win' 
idly raves round his ctwell'ng. 

And the roar of the linn; 
on the flight breeze is fwelling^ 



Then fo merrily he'll fing, 
as the ftorm rattles o er him, 

To fehedear fheeiing ring, 
wi' the light lilting jorum. 

Now the fimmer is in prime, 

vvi' the flowers richly blooming. 

And the w^ld mountain thyme 
a* the moorlands perfuming ; 

To our dear native fcenes 
l.t us journey together, 

Where glad innocence reigns 
'mang the braes o* Balquhither. 



I'LL HIE ME TO THE SHEELING HILL 



Tune — Gilly Galium, 



V\ hie me to the fheeiing hill, 

And bide amang the braes Galium^ 

Ere I gang to Cochran MilJ, 
IM live on hips and.il^es; Callum. 



d 



Wealthy pride can ill but hide. 

Your runklv meafl't fliins, Calluaii 

Lyart pow, as white's the tow, 

And beard as rough's the whins^ Galium. 

Wylie woman aft deceives, 

Sae ye'll think, I ween, CaUum, 
rees may keep their witber'd leaves, 

Till ance they get the green, Callumiy 
Blythe young Donald's won my hearti 

Has my willing vow, Galium, 
Now, for a* your courtly art, 

I winna marry you, Galluia. 



O L\SSIE, WILL YE TAK' A MAN. 



Tunc— /Fi//?/tf oVr the lave oV. 



O laflie, will ye tak' a man. 
Rich in houfing, gear, and ian% 
De'ii tak< the cafh ! that I fhould baBy 
Nae mair I'll be the ilave o\ 



PH buy you claife to bulk you braw, 
A riding pony, pad and a*, 
On FafhiOn's tap we'll drive awa', 
Whip, fpur, and a' the lave c't. 

O poortith is a wintry day, 
Cherrlefs, biir^ie, caii'd, and blae, 
But bafking under Foruine's ray, 

ihore's joy wbateer yr'd have o'f. 
Then gie'i your hand, ye'U be my wife, 
ril mak' you happy a' your hfe, 
We'll row in love a: d filler rife, 

^ill death wind up the lave o*t. 



LAMENT. 



At — Guilderoy. 



Companion of my youthful fports. 
From love and friendship corn, 



A victim to the pride of courts^ 

Thy early death 1 mourn. i, 

UnArouded on a foreign shore, w 

ThouVt mouldVing in the clay, 

Whi'e here thy weeping friends deplote 
Corunna's fatal day. 



How glows the youthful warrior's mind 

With thoughts of laurels won, 
But ruthless Ruin lurks behind, 

And marks him for her own. 
How soon the meteor ray is shed, 

Tiiat lures him to his doom, 
And dark Oblivion vieJs his head^ 

In everlasting gloom. 



<l 



f ITH ME, YE KIND ZEPHERS, COME 
SIGH FOR THE POET. 



Tunc — ^Erin go Brach, 



Ti h mr, ye kind zephyrs, come figh. for the 
poe\ 
Responfively wefp, as yc waft o'f r the hill; 
et his pra'fe be ycur theme, until Scotia know it, 
Their Bard, he is gone, the famed Tannahill ! 
I h^ariul and kind, he was tender and moving, 

To virtue inclined, he was always improving, 
%\l fortune intrusive, unkind and unloving, 
i Had dcftined the fate of the famed i annahill* 

Mute be the groves where he ufed to wander, 

Let filercc pervade each fongfter around, 
^be glen of Gleniffer, whofe f\reamiets meander, 
As fhe teis her fad tale, his ap plau5e let refound, 
Jefidc the lone willow, by Stancly'6 hi^h tower, 
; In r?pturefat niuiing beneath the green bower, 
i^ith a (oit melting heart (pent the fiudious hour, 
Tiii fortune's decree laid him low m the ground 



Let the Muses attend in tears, at bis parting, 

Infpiring the poets to fing in hi#'^raife, 
Since fortune, ilern fortune, unkind & uncerta! 

Her favour beftows on the worthlefs & baf<r 
Let hie fate draw the tear from each fond-hear 
ed lover, 

Since cold is the tirn where the green tui 
him cover. 
And the brave Ca'edonians always difcover 

The worth of their poet, & ling to his praifiL 



J, Neilfon, printer. 



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